


Exitus

by SinVraal



Series: Mass Effect: Kye Shepard's Story [6]
Category: Mass Effect 2 - Fandom
Genre: Action/Adventure, F/M, Gen, Sci-Fi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-12
Updated: 2010-10-04
Packaged: 2017-10-10 18:47:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 31
Words: 117,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/102962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SinVraal/pseuds/SinVraal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Explorations, variations and off-camera moments from the Mass Effect 2 storyline. Multiple character POVs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. All Pods

Kaidan wasn't on the flight deck when the call went out. He was downstairs, scrambling into his armor even as the _Normandy_ heaved and bucked around him. Standard protocol- when the ship is in combat, marines were to be in full gear. As much to keep them out of the flight crew's hair as preparation for the unexpected.

It was too fast. Kaidan hadn't expected to hear what broadcast over the general comms today, or any day.

"Abandon ship! Repeat, all hands, abandon ship!"

Kaidan mouthed the words, disbelieving, as the air came alive with a piercing warning klaxon. Red lighting appeared in the floor, flowing away in neat lines to mark the way to the escape pods. His hands kept up their well-practiced task as his brain tried to catch up to the situation, pulling and locking the smooth armored skin into place. He scooped up his sidearm and helmet, then made for the narrow emergency stairwell up to the crew deck. This was not the time to get stuck in a recalcitrant elevator.

Too fast. Upstairs, the B-shift crew was still scrambling out of the sleeping quarters, roused only minutes before by the emergency call to battle stations. Now they were piling into the mess area, eyes wide and stumbling as the ship shuddered under another hit.

Protocol. Protocol was the savior in these situations, and as an officer, Kaidan was an enforcer. He barked orders at the disorganized crew, waving them toward the rows of breathing masks standing open along the wall. He was wading into the mess of them, emphasizing his orders with a shove where necessary when fire exploded from a rent in the bulkhead, sending waves of heat flooding into the room. Droplets of superheated lithium spurted out of the break, dancing across the floor like beads of glowing mercury. Kaidan ran to a bulkhead to find a fire extinguisher. He continued yelling orders to the crew as he vented the extinguisher on the fire. But something in the _Normandy_'s system of complex heat management had failed, and it felt like spitting into the sun.

Suddenly Shepard was there. A solid form in her own armor, green against the crimson flames. She dodged past him to a panel further down the crew section bulkhead. The flames continued to shoot out of the rent.

Kaidan heard her swear as she smacked a balled fist into the display emitter. "Where's Joker?" Shepard demanded, turning to him.

"He's still up there!" Kaidan half shouted over the roar. "I had to get Onagawa to pod four and we're losing atmosphere-"

"Dammit, I'll go!" She shoved her helmet on, the neck seal closing with a click.

"I won't leave-"

"Get to your pod, Lieutenant!"

The commander's imperious finger left no room for argument, even though several crowded his head. She turned and vaulted up the stairs to the flight deck.

He could feel the pressure changing, the growing tension in his armor as it stiffened. The crew would be protected by their oxygen masks, which sealed over their faces and ears to protect the air pockets in their bodies from decompression. But the encroaching vacuum still threatened. What air was left was full of smoke and swirling ash.

Kaidan tried to tell himself that she'd been through worse- she always found a way to achieve her goal. But the ship was dying with terrifying speed. The jolts of weapon impacts didn't stop, and all around them the VIs systems tried in vain to compensate. Even he could tell that it was a losing battle. He focused on the threat to the unarmored crewmembers, all but throwing them into their pods.

The Normandy shuddered again. Terrible sounds rattled through the air. With a vicious lurch, the artificial gravity failed. Kaidan flailed an arm out and managed to catch the protruding handle beside the door of a pod as the last vestiges of the ship inertial compensation systems died.

"Shepard!" he called into his comms, squinting through the haze of heat and swirling debris. Everywhere, the shattered bones of the ship curled inward in a maw of vicious, flaming teeth.

"Sir!" someone yelled from within the pod. "With you we're at capacity!"

Kaidan bit off a harsh rebuke. A full escape pod was to close and fire, no questions. Lives were measured in brief minutes as the atmosphere burned and vented away into space.

"Hold the pod!" Shepard's breathless shout cracked through his comm pickup.

The main lights went out. Flames and a staccato of emergency lighting threw a lattice of dancing shadows around the twisted room. Across the space, figures moved in the flashing air.

A moment later, a bright orange lance of light punched through the top of the hull, trailing sparks and explosions as it traveled across the room with a ponderous, terrible purpose. In its wake, the deck plates melted and buckled. The shrieking sound of the beam pummeled the thin, leftover atmosphere, wailing through the structure of the ship and up through Kaidan's grip on the bulkhead.

Outlined against the hellish light, Joker's flailing form sailed toward Kaidan. He caught the brief flash of the pilot's wide, terrified eyes under the smooth breath mask. Kaidan stretched out and managed to snag a handful of Joker's fatigues. He pushed backward, twisting as he pulled the pilot into the pod's center, then wrenched around to look back out the portal. He gathered a breath to bellow Shepard's name when the pod door slammed shut in his face. His stomach plunged.

An instant later the thrusters fired, flattening Kaidan into the door with a sharp thud. His armor and helmet saved him from a broken nose, but Joker wasn't so lucky. Kaidan felt the pilot slam into his back and heard, far too intimately, the wet crunch of something breaking. A strangled shriek lanced the air.

Above the door, a red warning light was lit, next to three green ones. A moment of confusion ran through Kaidan- they were the engage lights for the pod's docking clamps, and one was reading as still locked. But they were free of the hull, tumbling.

Mostly free.

The pod could handle the weight of an extra body, but not a multi-ton chunk of the Normandy still clinging to the locked docking clamp. Kaidan swore under his breath. Every instinct of his medical training railed against him, but there was no time to consider any other options. He grabbed a bulkhead rail and roughly hooked an arm around Joker's torso. He heard Joker bite off another yelp, breath hissing between his teeth.

The pod bucked, echoing with the bellow of the maneuvering thrusters pulsing through the hull. Without gravity to orient himself, Kaidan's sense of direction faltered as he fought to keep himself between Joker and the hard skeleton of the escape vehicle.

The lieutenant shoved himself across the open space of the pod and grabbed a protruding bulkhead. Bracing himself, he pushed the thankfully light pilot down into the last empty seat. He planted a foot on Joker's thigh to keep him down, then yanked the harness yoke down over the pilot's head.

A sick dread roiled in Kaidan's stomach as the pod shuddered around him. Years worth of emergency training rattled around in his skull, endless hours of drills clocked on the ships he had served on. He could hear the sergeant barking at him -_ If you are not strapped in, you are a hundred plus kilos of loose projectile! A danger to yourself and the others in the pod!_

Loose projectile. As if to emphasize the point, the thrusters fired again, wrenching the bulkhead out of his grip and sending him across the pod to crash into the harnesses behind him. Incoherent shouting filled the air as he tried to re-orient himself. He swore he _saw_ it before it arrived, through the esoteric sixth sense he took for granted most days. In a flash, a rippling wave of dark energy swept through the pod, rushing through Kaidan's body and lighting up the mutant biotic nodes of his nervous system in a cacophony of sensation.

"The hell was _that_?" someone yelled.

The answer didn't come out, though it flashed through Kaidan's mind. _That was the Tantalus drive core exploding._

His body was on fire, coruscating in rippling blue. His nerves sang. He inhaled and focused on the red warning light across the pod. Timing the bellowing thrusters, he kicked off and shot across the intervening space back toward the door. Hand over hand, he pulled himself to the release for the locked docking clamp. He kicked it. Shouted in frustration, and kicked it again. A dull thud rang through the hull, followed by a lurch and a wrench of the thrusters. And in a rush, they stabilized.

Kaidan looped an arm through a handhold and held on, wedging himself against the bulkhead framing the door. He had only a moment to process a single thought. Shepard's armor signal in his HUD was out, but that didn't mean much- between the bulkheads, the distance, and the failure of the _Normandy_'s central comm system, there was little chance of getting accurate feedback. It was still possible...

The pod began to vibrate, a growing rumble that resonated through the hull.

"We're hitting atmosphere!" someone shouted.

The pod was designed to handle atmospheric entry under all kinds of conditions... but whole. There was no way to know if they has succeeded in shaking the debris, or sustained any damage from the Normandy's fiery end. They could do nothing but hope that the thick heat shield underneath them was intact, along with the thrusters that would angle their decent. Kaidan closed his eyes and focused every fiber of effort into keeping his grip as the vibration increased.

"Planetary impact imminent," the disembodied voice of the flight computer informed them, eerily calm amid the chaotic trembling. "Brace for brake deployment."

Kaidan heard the whine of the servos, and a moment later, a massive jolt shocked through the pod, wrenching his shoulder. A throaty roar started up, pushing up the g-forces as the main braking thrusters fired. A morbid thought wandered through his mind, questioning the point of the automated warnings. They would either make it or they wouldn't- would the voice be kind enough to inform them if they were about to die?

The exhausting seconds dragged. The g-forces spiked sharply, and a heartbeat later, there was a massive, crunching jolt. Then slowly, the world settled and stopped. In the sudden quiet, Kaidan could hear the ragged panting of the crew crammed into the pod with him, stunned into silence by the shock of their survival. Gravity had returned, weaker than standard, listing off to one side of the pod's floor plane. The vehicle's frame pinged and creaked, cooling from the fiery re-entry.

A dull throb started along Kaidan's left side and arm. His nerves felt raw, sunburned from the inside. He shifted, and was punished by a sharp stab across the top of his chest and shoulder. He gritted his teeth and eased his arm out of the grip then looked around. The other crewmembers were still safely strapped in, their breathing masks in place. Joker lay limp in his harness, his head lolled forward. Laid across his lap, the pilot's left arm was bent at an unnatural angle.

Aside from himself and the pilot, four other crewmembers occupied the pod. To his immediate right, Kaidan recognized Operations Chief Carson, one of the engineers who was usually stationed at a heat-monitoring station on the flight deck.

"Carson." Kaidan said, trying to force his voice into something approaching a level calm.

The chief blinked, turning a slow, bleary-eyed focus on Kaidan.

"Log into the pod and give me a systems check. Air quality, power levels, fuel reserves, everything."

Kaidan could almost see the slow progress of the order as it negotiated the fog of the chief's shock. "Aye, sir."

With trembling hands, he called up his omni-tool interface. Beside him, Servicewoman Ortiz was looking at Kaidan with an expectant stare- it was evident she wanted something to do as well.

"Ortiz, get the comms up," Kaidan said. "Contact the other pods. I want their positions, status, and a full crew manifest ASAP."

"Aye aye." Galvanized by the task, she called up her own omni-tool display.

Satisfied, Kaidan turned and scanned the paneling around him. Every structure of the pod was dedicated to a system, with not a single square centimeter of wasted space. After a few tugs, a red-striped bulkhead relinquished an oblong case marked with the familiar decals of a medkit.

The adrenal rush was starting to wear thin, admitting more and more of the throbbing pain in his shoulder. Something in there was broken- he guessed the collar bone. Breathing through his teeth, he thumbed open the latches and surveyed the contents. A standard medkit, one of the two stashed in the pod's hull. After a moment of hesitation, he picked out a morphine ampule and fed it into the auxiliary injection port for his medical exoskeleton hidden in an unobtrusive spot on his left forearm. A few quick commands later, and he felt the pinch of one of the exoskeleton's injector on his neck.

Kaidan then loaded a few ampules of morphine into the micro-dermal injector. On his knees, he shuffled over to Joker and laid the injector on the pilot's arm. Joker twitched, but didn't regain consciousness. Kaidan checked the pilot's pulse. It seemed high, but steady. Pain and shock had gotten the better of Joker, now it was a matter of keeping an eye on him- temporarily at least, unconsciousness was probably a blessing.

The disjointed euphoria of the drug began to seep into his brain, pushing back against the throbbing pain. A voice in his head was trying to tell him that he'd overdone it, but he wasn't interested in that particular piece of logic right now. He scanned the others. Ortiz and Carson were intent on their displays, and Santiago was looking over the servicewoman's shoulder. Corporal Pascoe seemed uninjured, though his eyes were still glazed with shock. He stared across the pod, his breathing mask reflecting the amber omni-tools in distorted ribbons.

Kaidan reached back to the medkit and fished out a stabilizer cuff, then busied himself fitting it over Joker's broken arm. A few commands to the nanoweave fibers and they hardened into a protective cast. Kaidan's own wounded shoulder complained bitterly the entire time, but the distant pain, the drugs, and the focus on the job at hand kept the choking tension at bay, if only just.

"Sir," Ortiz said.

"News?" Kaidan's stomach writhed.

"Pod two and five have landed within a hundred kilometers. Reporting full capacity and only minor injuries. One and three have established high orbit."

"And six?"

"One reports that six went over the planetary horizon, and was trying to re-establish stable orbit. If they stay up, they'll probably be back around in a few minutes. No crew manifest from six or eight yet, five and seven are just coming in."

It took all his willpower to not demand manifests right away. They would be incomplete anyway. "Okay. Carson?"

The corporal jumped. "Uh, ev- everything looks green, sir. Except one of the atmo collectors, I'm not getting any response."

"And the other one?"

"Green."

"Okay, deploy it." They were overweight, so any oxygen or water vapor they could squeeze out of the atmosphere was going to be valuable. Kaidan shuffled back to the door. His armor had reserves of its own, which would help to counterbalance his consumption of resources, but not by much. Biotic appetites were to no one's benefit in survival situations.

From across the pod, Kaidan caught the gleam of Joker's eyes under his mask. He stayed motionless, but the lieutenant could see him looking around, taking in the situation. Numbers ran through Kaidan's head unbidden, calculating. Oxygen, water and rations. Long-term psychological survival tactics in the tiny, coffin-like pod. A litany of survival and necessity that blocked out everything else.

A few minutes of uneasy silence settled over the dim pod, broken only by the soft sounds of omni-tools working.

Ortiz made a soft sound. "All pods reporting in, sir. All hands accounted for except... uh..."

Kaidan's heart sank at the tone of her voice. "Who?"

Ortiz took a deep breath and began listing names. Kaidan's mouth went dry when he heard XO Pressley's name. At the mention of Servicewoman Caroline Grenado, there was a strangled noise from the far side of the pod. Pascoe stared at Ortiz, mouth working in soundless shock. A jolt of surprise traveled through Kaidan. Were he and Grenado...?

"... and... Shepard."

The world went grey. Kaidan sagged against the door, hearing the others react with gasps and scattered cursing. As frozen seconds passed, his body cried out for oxygen. He forced himself to inhale past the constriction in his throat. Someone said something. Kaidan dragged his head up, focused. Four sets of blood-shot eyes were pinned on him.

"Say again?" The words were reactive, coming from far away across years of habit.

Carson cleared his throat. "Do we have kind of ETA on a pickup? Like, at all?"

Joker grunted. All eyes turned to him. "General distress call sent," the pilot said in a toneless voice. "Got a reply ping... from relay buoy just before..."

He lapsed into silence, his face shadowed by the breathing mask.

"Which means a few days at most," Kaidan forced the words out. A response from the comm buoy meant that the distress call had been accepted and rebroadcast at priority throughout the Citadel's military network. Far too late to save the _Normandy_, but by now the whole Alliance would have heard the call.

"I hope whatever hit us is gone by then..."

"No way!" Pascoe snapped. "I hope it's still there, so our ships can blow it hell!"

Joker gave a soft snort. "We wouldn't stand a chance."

"Oh yeah, because _you're_ so great." Pascoe pushed up his harness. "The hell happened? How could they sneak up on us like that?"

"It was just a routine scan," Ortiz cut in. "_Asteroids_ aren't known for their tendency to fire ship-cutter beams!"

Pascoe scoffed.

"Sit_ down_, Corporal." Kaidan's voice sounded weak in his head, as if he couldn't muster enough breath.

"You forget to turn the goddamn shields on or something?" Pascoe demanded, his voice twisting with ragged desperation.

The pilot just stared at him, his eyes dull and his hands limp in his lap. Pascoe moved, arms coming up. On instinct, Kaidan threw out his right hand. He heard a sharp intake of breath from several throats as the dim interior lights warped with dark energy, coalescing with a snap around Pascoe.

Under normal circumstances, using biotics against fellow Alliance members was strictly prohibited, tantamount to using a weapon. He held field for a second, releasing it and using the shock to push the man back toward his seat. Pascoe swung a clumsy backhand at Kaidan, but the impact was dull and distant. Kaidan pushed him back again, keeping his broken bone turned away as much as he could. His skull pulsed with distant pain.

For a moment, it seemed like Pascoe would come back up swinging, but all of a sudden Santiago was there, muscling Pascoe back down. Kaidan blinked in surprise. A relative newcomer to the Normandy, Servicewoman Santiago was part of Adam's engineering crew, and so quiet and reserved that it made the lieutenant himself seem talkative.

"We're _not_ doing this," she said. Her soft voice held a surprising undercurrent of steel.

"Goddammit..." Pascoe rasped, squirming in his seat as if he wanted to escape. But there was nowhere to go. The fight was leaving him. "It's not _fair_..."

"You really want to mourn Caroline in cuffs?"

Pascoe slumped, defeated.

"Lost... enough for one day," Kaidan murmured.

Whether or not the corporal understood the full implications of that statement, coming from Kaidan, was up for debate. Not for the first time, Kaidan caught himself wondering how much the crew suspected of his relationship with Shepard. They'd agreed to keep their personal business strictly off of the _Normandy_, but there were plenty of rumors. There were always rumors. Months on a tiny ship packed cheek-to-jowl bred them like rats. Dealing with internal politics was as much a part of military life as keeping your uniform clean.

Still, Kaidan tended to be ignorant of most of it. Gossip wasn't part of his job as an officer, so he liked to think he could remain above it. Though given Pascoe's unexpected reaction, Shepard's tactical choice of getting to know her crew took on a new meaning.

_Shepard-_

"Sir..." It was Ortiz again.

Kaidan blinked. The choking storm was climbing up his throat again, clouding his thoughts. He fastened himself to Ortiz's request.

"What is it?"

"Pod six, sir. They're losing orbit, and they want to know if they should run a burn to regain altitude, or drop in."

Kaidan inhaled slowly, his heart filling with a numbing realization. _I am... in command._

_Command of the _Normandy_._

_Such as it is._

Entering the atmosphere of an unknown planet carried a whole host of risks. On the other hand, it cost precious thruster fuel to regain a proper orbit. Whatever had destroyed the _Normandy_ could still be up there, and either way, the escape pods were defenseless. There was no ideal answer. At least on the ground, they were stable and could collect resources from the atmosphere, and a controlled drop was better than running out of fuel in space.

"Tell them to drop in. Link up with pod four and give them local telemetry."

"Aye sir." Ortiz's face was intent on the glowing display before her eyes

Kaidan sat back and powered down his amp. It hurt. Everything seemed to hurt. He desperately wanted to get away from these people, out of the tiny pod, as if he could escape the suffocating vice around his chest. But outside was only the dimming evening of a frigid planet of snow and a frozen methane atmosphere. He closed his eyes, trying to fight the claustrophobic feeling. He couldn't break down here, in front of the soldiers relying on him.

No matter how much he wanted to.

"Here comes six," Ortiz said.

Carson looked over. "Got visual?"

Everyone wanted something else to think about. Focus on the living, the next five minutes.

"Looking."

A minute, then another passed in tense silence. Ortiz popped a large, amber display from her tool. It was logged into the exterior camera, the image jerking as Ortiz tracked the camera around. The sky outside was raining trailing meteors of debris, picked out as bright stars on the camera's fuzzy resolution. Kaidan glanced away from those flaming scars.

"There!"

The lieutenant looked back, unable to ignore the consequences of his command decision. The small black speck on the monitor slewed around the frame as Ortiz tracked its descent. Flares of the maneuvering thrusters twinkled blue along its base in a staccato sequence.

"C'mon, where's the brakes?" Carson murmured.

"Not 'till they hit-"

The speck shot out of frame. Ortiz swore quietly, sweeping the view back across the deepening sky. When the falling pod re-appeared, it had sprouted a bloom of air brakes and a blue-white jet of retro-rocket.

Ortiz and Carson cheered, and Santiago smiled as they watched the pod's stately decent through the glittering, frigid air. Except for Pascoe, who wasn't wasn't paying attention. He was hunched in his seat, arms wrapped around his knees, his dull, miserable silence a painful echo of Kaidan's own.

From across the pod, Kaidan saw Joker looking at him from under the rim of the breathing mask. The pilot mouthed a few words. The lieutenant gave a bare shake of his head and looked away, not wanting to try to decipher what Joker was saying.

Whatever it was, it would solidify everything- slice a new, harsh reality from the haze. It would make him want to demand what the hell the pilot had been thinking, make him want to get up and see just how easily the brittle man would break. He swallowed, trying to banish the feeling. Moving his damaged shoulder with care, Kaidan called up the crew list. He forced himself to pay attention only to the names glowing in healthy green. Despite the devastating attack, many of the crew had been able to escape.

Twenty-five lives in his hands.

Duty was the thick armor that he pulled around himself, hunched in the tiny space against the door of the pod. Behind that wall, safe in a fog of painkillers, he could hide from the storm of agony howling at his gates.


	2. Thirty Pieces

Joker slouched indolently in his seat in the small office. One of the advantages of being out of the military was not having to spend so much time sitting straight and saluting people, a change that he was determined to enjoy no matter what. This Miranda Lawson was supposed to be one of the higher-ups, but he knew he wasn't in this meeting to be reprimanded. No, there was something big in the wind. He might have been more grumpy that he'd been yanked off his ship and flown to this remote Cerberus station, but something about this particular request hadn't brooked any complaint. Just the view of the station itself served to confirm his suspicions- this was no back-system fuel depot.

"The mission is a dangerous one," Lawson was saying, hand on her hip. "There's a strong possibility that it will be a one-way trip."

"My favorite," Joker quipped. "What's the downside?"

A small smirk creased Lawson's perfect features. "I won't mince words with you, Mister Moreau. You're one of the few people who can fully appreciate the magnitude of the Reaper threat."

"I appreciate that we haven't seen any more of them, that's for sure."

"Yet. They're coming."

Joker had almost succeeded in not thinking about that single fact for days at a stretch. It was odd to hear someone else talk about the Reapers in such plain terms- the last time he'd had the conversation, the other party had been orbiting planet Denial with maddening determination.

"We have reason to suspect that the recent attacks on Terminus colonies may be related," Lawson went on. "The Alliance is writing them off as pirate attacks, but their scope far outstrips what any pirate band is capable of. And it is no longer an isolated incident."

"So, Cerberus is going to do something about it?"

Lawson's stare was unsettling, like she was examining his every blink and breath with minute scrutiny. "Unlike the Alliance, Cerberus began preparations for the Reaper threat as soon as we found out about it. We're not going to make excuses and hope the problem goes away on its own."

"So, you need a pilot."

"We need the best team possible. _You _are on that list."

Joker examined his fingernails. "'Course I am. I need a good ship, though. The_ Casavant_ is a nice ride, but I don't think it's up to saving the galaxy."

Lawson smiled, an expression far more predatory than friendly. She walked to the far wall and keyed a switch set into the corner. The wall split into segmented shutters and slid into the ceiling with a soft slithering sound. Curious, Joker stood and limped to the revealed window.

The space beyond was dim, but Joker could make out a vast room spreading out below him. Large, geometric shapes loomed in the darkness. There was a beep as Lawson touched another control. One by one, banks of lights came on, proceeding down the length of the hangar at timed intervals. Joker's heart thudded as the first set illuminated the end of the sweeping shape that dominated the room, a sloped nose crowned with twin sensor fins. Each set of lights that came on revealed more of the ship he knew so well, a profile like nothing before or since.

"May I assume you approve of our choice of vessel?" Lawson said.

It took several seconds for Joker to find his voice. "...you rebuilt it. You rebuilt the _Normandy_."

"She is as of yet unnamed, but her pedigree is the best. All the stealth technology of the original, with several improvements. The fate of humanity may well be at stake, Mister Moreau. Cerberus will spare no expense, no effort needed to prevail."

With some effort, Joker collected himself. "Okay, so what poor sap did you rope into leading this operation?" He shifted. "Or... is that _you_?"

"I am the lead Cerberus Operator for this mission, but I am not the commanding officer." Lawson replied with a small frown. "Crew call is tomorrow morning, 0800 sharp. The CO will be arriving around 0900, but you're welcome to be there. I assumed you'll want to greet Commander Shepard personally."

"I... Wait, what?"

Lawson smiled again. It was quite clear she was enjoying watching him gape like a fish. "Cerberus spared no expense, Mister Moreau. We only hire the _best_."

* * *

"It's good to be home, isn't it?"

Shepard didn't answer. Her expression was unreadable, face taut under the network of scars that spread down the left side of her face. Joker leaned on the railing overlooking the new _Normandy_ and tried very hard to ignore the herd of elephants in the room. He still couldn't quite believe that Commander Shepard stood a few feet away.

To his surprise, it turned out to be more surreal even than seeing the new _Normandy_ for the first time. A ship could be re-built, but outright resurrection seemed far-fetched at best. In the hours since he'd been told of her return, he'd privately entertained various elaborate theories about cloning and robotics. He didn't quite believe it until she strode out of the comm-room at the shipyard and stopped in front of him. Had she been a perfect replica, he might have doubted it more, but somehow the scars, the glint of artificial retinas from her eyes made it real. She really did die. And Cerberus brought her back.

_Unreal._

Joker glanced sideways. She wore a suit of combat armor that looked fresh off the assembly line, dyed dark green in a close imitation of the Armax suit she'd been wearing on the last day he'd seen her alive.

"Slick duds."

The commander rolled her shoulders. "Not bad, but I still need to break it in. The shield capacitors are a bit slower than I'd like, and the recoil response needs to be tightened up across the back..." She glanced over at him. "You were making small talk, weren't you?"

Joker smirked. "Chose the wrong subject for a soldier, I guess. C'mon, let's go check out the new digs."

Shepard fell into step beside him as he limped toward the gangplank.

"Ditched the crutches I see?"

"Damn right." Joker allowed himself a grin. "A few gratuitous doctor visits, bone treatments, new power-assist braces, a month or six of physio, and check it out! I can hobble along at nearly normal walking speed."

"What do you know about this... mission?" she asked.

"Just that Terminus colonies are going silent and no one else seems to want to do anything about it. Lawson briefed the crew this morning about what you found on Freedom's Progress. Something about a crazy quarian claiming it's the Collectors."

"More like confirming. No movement from anyone in the Alliance?"

"Ah, no. I haven't..." There was an uncomfortable pause. "It all went to hell after the SR-1 went down, Commander. They spent a while playing the hero song, but behind the curtain, we all got split up. They sealed everything away. And they... wouldn't let me fly anymore."

She stopped walking. For a moment, Joker caught the flicker of anger across the hard mask of her face. "On what grounds?"

The pilot shrugged. "Bullshit reasons. Maybe they didn't think the almighty _Normandy_ could be sunk, so must have been me that screwed up. I don't know." He was being evasive and he knew it, but the knot in his stomach didn't want to let anything else out.

"Ridiculous," Shepard growled. She resumed her pace. "They didn't see what hit us. Did they even bother to dig up the black box data?"

"Not that I ever heard. Omega Nebula's not exactly a good place for Alliance ships, you know? But it's not like they'd tell me anyway."

How to explain what they'd done to Shepard's name in her absence? The official stance remained that she was a hero, savior of the Council and the Citadel, responsible for humanity's newfound respect, both political and military, in Council affairs. Of course the Alliance licensed her image and voice, and for a while she shilled for Alliance recruiting, biotic testing, Armax Industries premium combat armor. Dead people selling things seemed run of the mill, until it was someone Joker knew personally talking to him from a two meter holovid. Then it seemed more than a little nightmarish.

He could imagine her saying it. _So, a pilot's chair and some bone treatments are your thirty pieces of silver?_ But if she was thinking such a thing, there was no evidence in her expression. She continued to sweep her gaze around the hangar bay, absorbing the scene. The tension in her body seemed to expect violence to break out at any moment.

Joker stopped in front of the open airlock to the ship, and waited for Shepard to glance at him. "Can we just get it over with?"

"What?"

"I joined _Cerberus_."

She raised her hand and spread her fingers, armored in the ridged gauntlet. "So did I, it seems." There was an unsettling monotone to her voice.

"Yeah, but..." The pilot shifted his weight. "Where are we at, Commander?"

She said nothing for a long moment, looking up at the sweeping hull of the new ship. She looked thinner than she had been two years ago, her dark skin seemed drawn and the the shiny lattice of scars caught the harsh lights of the hanger.

"I don't know, Joker." She swiped a hand over her eyes. "Five days ago I was on the SR-1, doing my job with the crew I trusted. Fours days ago I woke up on a table and a bunch of mechs tried to kill me. They tell me my crew and my ship are gone, and two years just went away. They tell me I owe Cerberus my life... then they tell me humans are vanishing and I'm the only one who can stop it."

She exhaled a slow breath. "So I don't know yet."

Joker absently scratched his chin as she fell silent. "Guess I wouldn't either."

He stepped into the decontamination airlock, and the outer door slid shut behind them. Since they were at a clean dock, the system did only a cursory check for air pressure before opening. The inner airlock cycled into the hallway beyond, just behind the pilot's cockpit like the original ship. The air that washed past them smelled of new plastic and metal, not yet carrying the hints of human habitation that even the best atmospheric scrubbers couldn't banish from a long cruise. As they stepped through the door, someone came up the gangway from the CIC.

For moment, Shepard's hard mask broke. "Doctor Chakwas!"

"Commander." The doctor clasped Shepard's hands with her own with a warm smile. "If you'll forgive my informality, you've been sorely missed, Shepard. Welcome back."

"Well, I'd say the same, but I hardly had time to miss you."

"I just had to come and see you for myself." The doctor peered at Shepard. "It's... really quite an amazing feat."

Shepard frowned. "Doctor, do you have the crew manifest for the SR-1? I want to know who we lost."

"Yes, of course. I'll forward it to your personal files."

"Send it to-" Shepard raised her omni-tool, then dropped her arm with a frustrated huff. "Yes, fine. Personal files."

The doctor dropped her voice. "How are you holding up, Shepard?"

The commander blinked, as if surprised at the question. A moment passed before she answered. "Sore. And still... not quite convinced of any of this." She shifted her shoulders under the heavy armor, glancing down the gangway.

Joker was sure there was a great deal more going on in those few words than they alone suggested. He tried to picture what it would be like, to erase the two years of struggle and imagine that yesterday, they dropped out of FTL around Alchera. Yesterday.

Aftward, Joker spotted Lawson and Taylor rounding the oval galaxy map display column. "Incoming," he said.

Chakwas glanced back, then laid a hand on Shepard's forearm. "Once the formalities are over with, come down to the medbay."

The commander nodded, then squared her shoulders and walked down toward the CIC.

"I can't imagine," the doctor murmured, watching her go. "Everything all right, Jeff?"

Joker plastered on a grin. "Can't wait to get underway, doc. Spent all night reading the specs, and this baby has some _legs_ on her."

"I'll leave you to your checklists then."

Joker gave her a jaunty salute as she too turned to go, before returning to his rather lavish pilot's chair.

"Guess that went as well as could be expected," he muttered to himself.

"Commander Shepard's review of ship's personnel is as of yet incomplete," came a voice from his left.

Joker eyed the glowing blue holographic sphere that was the ship AI's 'face'. "I wasn't talking to you."

"Since there is no one else here at present, I made the assumption-"

"Okay, I get it." He settled into the chair and swiveled it toward the dash, trying to ignore EDI- the only part of this new job he could safely say he hated.

One of the things he appreciated about being a pilot was that much of the time, he was alone in the cockpit. No one looking over his shoulder, trying to tell him how to do his job. Sometimes it was boring, the stultifying waits while those in charge took care of business on the ground. But that was the price paid, and paid happily, for control. In theory, EDI was shackled, unable to access any of the ship's primary systems. He tried to think of her as an exotic Electronic Warfare System, but the notion that the ship's internal cameras could generate an opinion on what they were recording was more than a little unsettling.

He'd been trying to ignore the obvious- this was _Cerberus_ after all.

When he got his first job outside the Alliance, he didn't know who was authorizing his pay, and he didn't really care. The money was good and the jobs kept him busy and more important than that, got him flying again. Had he been more cynical, he might have questioned how the opportunities just fell into his lap so easily, but it was easy to write off as his reputation alone. Having been the pilot of the _Normandy_ still meant something, even free of the politics of Alliance circles. After the shitstorm he'd been through getting out of the Alliance, he didn't spare a lot of time questioning something that might have been too good to be true.

Seeing Shepard again was a stark reminder. Sitting there in the pilot's chair of the _Normandy_ SR-2, he could admit how well Cerberus had maneuvered him. He was, as the Illusive Man would say, a 'valuable asset', and Cerberus' leader was the kind of person who never let a chess-piece be moved off the board unless it fit into his overall strategy to win. They'd let him get comfortable, get used to the money, get to know the crew and the ships he worked on. Fast, fun ships with just a few warts, the kind of imperfections that in a high-performance machine, begged to be tested and fixed instead of abandoned.

They let him get attached, then they let him in on the truth. By that point, the idea of leaving was already not an appealing one. And just in case doubt was setting in, they made the offer to see what they could do to get him walking. They didn't promise miracles, but they didn't have to. It seemed ironic to Joker that he had an easier time believing Cerberus could get him off his crutches than anyone else in Alliance space.

All this time, they'd been grooming him, keeping him close so they could one day put him in this chair.

He glanced back. Down the gangway toward the CIC, Shepard stood with the two lead Cerberus agents. Over the hum of ship's systems, he could make out snatches of Lawson's voice as she pointed out important stations, a conceit he was sure annoyed Shepard- as if the Commander didn't know how the hell her ship worked. Joker wasn't sure what to think of Operator Lawson. He found it distracting to talk to her in person, like he was under a perpetual, minute evaluation every moment he was in her presence. Taylor was more down to earth at least, a soldier by his record and his demeanor, but Joker didn't get the feeling the former marine appreciated sarcastic remarks.

Until yesterday, it had been easy enough to justify everything, put everything in the past behind him. Easier maybe, because Shepard herself wasn't around to remind him of all the things they'd been through hunting Saren.

"Well, maybe my life was starting to get boring anyway," he said to the cockpit at large. "I haven't had to fly into an exploding volcano in what... two whole years?"

EDI did not deign to comment.


	3. Long Bridge

"Name's Jacob Taylor," the man said. He hunkered down further behind the balcony as sparks flew off the metal railing joist. "I might wait until we're done to shake your hand, though."

Garrus ejected a steaming thermal clip from his sniper rifle. It joined a dozen others by his feet, hissing as it vented its stored heat. "I'll manage somehow."

Whoever the human was, he was calm under fire. His quick hand with his weapons spoke of military experience, even if his armor seemed far too light for Garrus' taste. After what Sidonis had done, Garrus wasn't about to turn his back on anyone, but Jacob looked, if not trustworthy, at least pragmatic about the situation at hand.

The turian shifted to the side and slipped his rifle back over the side of the balcony. Below, a group of vorcha were scurrying through the shattered remains of mechs and dead Eclipse mercs. The humanoid LOKI units were slow, easy targets, fun in the way that shooting at a range could be. No real threat, but good practice. He liked trying to nail them in the glowing circles that ringed their optical sensors. There was a certain satisfaction when their heads popped clean off the neck joint. Moments of satisfaction had been fleeting in the last several hours. Now, a leaden exhaustion dragged on his limbs, making his armor seem far heavier than normal. His shoulder ached from absorbing the rifle's recoil for shot after endless shot down onto the bridge that separated him from the squads of mercenaries and their witless freelancers.

Oh, the look on Jaroth's face when the YMIR had turned. Through his scope, Garrus had watched the salarian merc's expression of triumph wilt into terror as the huge mech had turned its machine gun on his own men. Trapped on the narrow bridge, the charge of Eclipse mercs faltered and scattered, the YMIR's rockets exploding on their heels. Picking off the survivors had been an easy task.

Up until that moment, Garrus' own death had seemed inevitable to him. A fresh rush of mercs across the bridge seemed like it would finally bring his tenure as Omega's hidden protector to an end. The attackers were amateurs, but in sufficient numbers even amateurs could be dangerous. Then Garrus watched, incredulous, as an odd batch near the back opened fire on the others, gunning them down with practiced ease. A phantom bearing the N7 seal slipped across his scope. It couldn't be real, just another self-important merc trying to make herself look more dangerous by adopting a fake moniker.

But the way she moved... he shifted his scope and the sniper round chipped the bridge floor. He figured he was either slipping into fatigue-induced hallucinations, or these people were on his side, and either way there wasn't much to be gained by shooting at them. He couldn't stay up there forever.

When the shooting fell silent, a dead woman came through the door. Garrus didn't know the human man that accompanied her, but the one-horned salarian doctor was impossible to mistake. It made a kind of disjointed sense that the irrepressible Doctor Solus would be with Shepard.

The strangest thing, though, was that she seemed surprised to learn it was him under the name "Archangel". There hadn't been time to ask why.

At first, even Shepard's sudden appearance didn't seem like it would carry them through. He was too tired to believe it could be done, four of them against three merc companies. Then the YMIR turned on Jaroth, and Garrus was reminded of the reason why neither friend nor foe should underestimate Shepard's ability to reverse an unwinnable situation. The light of another day re-emerged on Garrus' personal horizon.

"Looks like most of their forces went through the tunnels," Jacob said. His shotgun was laid at his feet as he adjusted something on his heavy Carnifex pistol.

"Agreed, this is just diversionary." Garrus sighted down the scope. By now, the Blood Pack's main force downstairs had run headlong into Shepard and her grenade launcher. The mental picture made Garrus' mandibles twitch with grim pleasure.

A vorcha died in a messy spray of red. Vorcha were more fun to snipe than mechs, but trickier to hit. Their movements were erratic, sometimes suicidally precipitous. And resilient- you had to hit them with killshots, or else they would often regenerate and get back up. Down on the bridge, another vorcha was moving between the cover provided by the bridge's thick pilings. Garrus caught a glimpse of the vorcha's heavy backpack crowned with twin fuel tanks. Jacob's pistol barked once, twice. A spray of fire erupted from the vorcha's backpack, and the alien staggered out into the open with a screech of alarm.

"Nice shot." Garrus didn't waste a round on the already-dead merc.

A moment later, an explosion shook the bridge, scattering flame, gore and armor plates.

Jacob dumped his clip. "Who'd have thought the Blood Pack would be the ones to try the sneaky approach?"

"Garm," Garrus said with a grunt. For all their brute demeanor, the turian had learned that a krogan was not to be dismissed. One that survived a century or more at the head of a merc gang had only done so by developing wily hunting instincts.

"The big krogan? Funny, we talked to him ten minutes ago. Decided to show us how tough he was by shooting one of his own vorcha. Don't think I'd follow _that_ command."

"Sounds like him. I would ask why-" Another vorcha went down, neck vertebrae severed. "-you didn't put a round in him when you had the chance, but it's Garm. I think you'd need to put six grenades in his underwear before he'd even notice."

The pain in Garrus' shoulder was turning persistent. Was there no end to these things? Another trio vaulted the barricade at the far end of the bridge, scooting for cover as they advanced.

"Garm said you'd tussled a while back."

"I only had five grenades with me, so I had to bow out early."

The YMIR's huge, smoking frame was blocking part of the turian's line of fire. One of them dodged out, only to be chased back to cover by Jacob's pistol. Shocks of flame burst from every impact as it rang off the mech's metal body.

Another heat clip hit the ground. "Must have been quite a fight."

A new squad of vorcha poured over the barricade, and this time there was a krogan among them.

"You might witness the rematch." Garrus switched on his comms. "It's getting tight up here, Shepard!"

The reply came back laced with interference from the ferrous structure around them. "We're dealing with the last shutter, but there's a lot of them! Just hold on!"

Garrus raised his rifle again. Jacob hammered a vorcha down with flaming shots from his pistol, and the turian slammed a shot into a vorcha's leg, re-centered and dropped it as it staggered. The krogan was smarter than his compatriots. He dodged as he ran, and Garrus only managed to clip one of the alien's shoulder guards before he slipped out of sight under the balcony.

"That's trouble," Garrus said with a growl of frustration.

Jacob scooped up his shotgun. "Focus on the bridge, I'll get him."

Garrus hoped the human's skill matched his confidence. He took aim again, picking off another vorcha as the ghoulish aliens tried to make a rush on the bridge. He fired as fast as the rifle would allow, but soon the heat clip hissed in protest. He cursed and ejected it, knowing that a few more vorcha had made it under the overhang.

Down in the room behind him, the sounds of battle intensified, swelling to fill the once-quiet rooms with the roar of automatic weapons hitting metal, grunts and screams of pain.

"Garrus!" Jacob yelled over the din of gunfire. "You got incoming!"

"ARCHANGEL!" The word bounced off the walls, each syllable distinct and carrying a promise of the inevitable.

Garrus spun around to see the massive, blood-red krogan storm around the corner. Crude white skulls adorned the alien's shoulder plates, and heat shimmered out of the four vent stacks sticking out of his armored hump.

"Vengeance!" Garm roared. Blue flame surged.

Garrus lept to the side, rolling behind the metal divider just as a wash of dark energy slammed into it, heaving it out of its mountings with a squeal. The turian mouthed a number of uncomplimentary words as he pawed for his assault rifle. He got his feet under him and jumped up, spaying the air with fire. Garm was way too close, eyes aflame with gleeful hatred. Garrus lurched to the side as a shotgun blast shattered the boxes of supplies. The turian staggered back, banging into the rows of seats behind him. Exhaustion made his body sluggish. The krogan's biotic barrier devoured Garrus' assault rifle rounds and still the krogan advanced. Another shotgun blast slammed into Garrus, overwhelming his shields with a flash.

The air shuddered with a massive impact. Garrus blinked. Where a moment before Garm had been bearing down on him, now Shepard was in his place, wreathed in a corona so intense that her form distorted into a shimmering ghost. The room shook again as the krogan collided with the far wall with bone-rattling force and landed in a heap. Shepard stumbled, carried by unseen momentum, and landed on one knee. Her aura flickered out.

Garrus shook off his surprise and turned his rifle on Garm as the krogan struggled to find his feet. The shattered plates of armor along the krogan's side ground together. With grim satisfaction, Garrus unloaded the last of his heat clip into Garm's face even as the Blood Pack captain reached for him, his eyes glazed with mindless blood rage. The krogan slumped with a gurgle.

Garrus pulled his pistol off his waist and pumped a few more shots in for good measure, driving the rounds through the krogan's eye socket and into his brain. "Regenerate_ that_."

When he turned, Shepard had regained her feet, though she still seemed unsteady. Jacob was crossing the room, helping himself to some of the cooled heat clips scattered around the shelves. The sound of gunfire from downstairs had stopped. The smell of burnt... _something_ was strong in the air.

"Didn't know you could do that, Commander," Jacob said.

Shepard blinked. "Neither did I."

Doctor Solus strode into the room on long legs, taking in the scene in one quick sweep. "Seems I missed something, yes?"

Jacob popped new clips into his shotgun. "Yeah, Shepard hit Garm like a biotic freight hauler. Never seen a krogan fly like that, pretty damn impressive."

The salarian folded his arms and tapped his face with a thoughtful expression. "Have heard of this technique. Use of biotics on user's own body, vast increase in mass and impact. Rare talent. Often dangerous- broken bones, tissue stress caused by abnormal dark energy field variance. Fascinating! Spontaneous display of-"

"You all right, Shepard?" Garrus asked, tuning out the doctor's rambling digression.

The commander seemed to shake herself. "Fine. So long as I don't spoil the reunion by throwing up on your boots, everything will be great."

Garrus flared his mandibles. "That would be appreciated. I don't think-"

A disembodied voice burst from the windows. "Archangel!"

Doctor Solus cocked his head. "Amplified voice, directed through external speakers. Hmm, is that-"

A wash of heated air boiled into the room, carrying a burst of dust and sound, the throaty roar of ducted thrusters.

"Tarak!" Garrus yelled. _ Does it ever end?_

He didn't have time to say more. The gunship crested the gangway only meters away, flooding the room with brilliant searchlights. The chin-mounted chain gun roared to life. Garrus staggered as the heavy rounds slammed into his shields, pummeling his armor. There was a flash and a hiss, and something slammed him into blackness.

* * *

Garrus swam back toward consciousness. He could sense that he wasn't in his armor, at least the upper portion. His face felt numb and sore at the same time, and the air smelled of antiseptic. Cool, white light intruded under his eyelids, shifting with movement. He gingerly opened his eyes. A human smiled down at him. He blinked, realizing it was a familiar face, framed in chin-length hair.

"Hello, Garrus," the human said.

"Doctor... Chakwas." His mouth was dry. He forced his swimming brain to focus on the doctor. Another ghost from the past, someone he hadn't thought about in two years. The familiarity was sudden and stark, lit up like the med-bay, pushing back against Omega's darkness. He hadn't been in a bright, clean place like this in... well, more than a year.

"Yes. You're on the _Normandy_. The new _Normandy_, that is. Shepard isn't the only one to make a comeback."

A new _Normandy_? He watched her pull an IV terminal out of his arm, closing the pinprick with a dab of medi-gel. Clear plastic tubing led up to a bag, which was marked with a bright blue label along the top. On it, the word 'dextro' was printed in several languages. Something felt... off.

"You were quite lucky, Garrus. Best as we can calculate, the missile went past your head and impacted the back of your collar. It was a shaped armor-penetrating charge, so the worst of the blast actually discharged through your armor and missed you completely. You sustained some bad burns to your neck and the side of your head, as well as impact and shrapnel damage. Your trachea was partially severed, but Doctor Solus was able patch it with medi-gel and keep your airway clear until you got on board."

Garrus finally realized what was bothering him. "I... can't hear anything from my right."

Chakwas nodded. "The pressure wave from the impact burst your tympanic membrane and damaged the ear canal. Doctor Solus and I replaced the damaged tissue with a synthetic device. Nothing fancy- it will do the same job as the original. We've blocked off your right ear until it heals in place. However, you may still have some damage to your inner ear from the force of the explosion. I've applied local neuro-regenerators to promote repair to the aural nerve cluster, but we won't know what the loss will be until the eardrum starts to function normally again.

"The good news is that your eyes didn't sustain any damage, and since turians keep their vocal chords further back than humans, those didn't get damaged either. You have some bruising on your torso, but nothing serious."

Garrus contemplated the ceiling of the med bay. "That's... quite a list."

"Not serious enough to keep you in bed, I suspect. All in all, you're doing very well for someone who nearly caught a missile in their teeth."

"You make that sound like a bad thing." The turian gingerly levered himself up to a sitting position, stifling a groan at the ache across his torso and neck.

"Well now." Her expression was somewhere between sad and gentle humoring when she looked at him. "You're a soldier, Garrus. And if there's one thing I've learned, it's that human or otherwise, soldiers usually insist on being up and about before I'm happy with it. But I suppose it's part of your charm."

The turian chuckled, then winced when his right mandible tried to flex against the dressing. "I guess we're a little stubborn that way." He touched his face, feeling the rough fabric along his neck and running up the ride of his head. The lack of sound coming from his right was unsettling- it wasn't muffled, it was completely absent.

Doctor Chakwas handed him a micro-dermal injector. "Here, since you're going to get up, take this. It's set to allow an injection once every eight hours, minimum, for the next three days. Don't try to be tough- pain doesn't help anyone sleep. And I'll need to see you again tomorrow to change the dressings."

"I suppose I'm putting your xeno skills to good use."

She gave a small shrug. "Better than moldering behind a desk on Mars."

Garrus' eyes were drawn to the horned symbol embossed on the far wall. After a moment, Doctor Chakwas followed his gaze.

Her expression turned grave. "I serve Commander Shepard."

Garrus nodded. The note of finality in her voice forestalled further questions. He had plenty, but Shepard would be the one to ask. Starting with how she was still alive. When he had given up on Council politics in disgust and left for the Terminus systems, her heroism was already being soured by rumors and speculation.

The pressure came from the top, from the Council down through the ranks- Saren worked alone. Reapers were a fantasy dreamt up by a mind steeped in post-traumatic stress and exposure to prothean technology. The Citadel was perfectly safe. Garrus' fury grew until he could no longer look Executor Pallin in the eye. C-Sec was stretched thin, strained further by the sudden influx of humans to bolster their ranks. Not everyone approved of the move, and old grudges flared. And Alenko... his friend had vanished into his job, burying himself in an attempt to escape the grief he never spoke of, that few people knew about and fewer could appreciate. When he'd left, Garrus had been tempted to ask Kaidan to come along, but in the end he hadn't. Alenko had just been promoted, and it was clear to Garrus that whether out of want or need, his friend wasn't going to budge.

"Your gear is over there," Chakwas said, bringing him back to the now. "Shepard ordered the crew to leave it alone, and it hasn't been touched."

Garrus slipped off the bed and crossed to the one next door, where the upper section of his armor was laid out next to his eyepiece and folded weapons. The scars of battle were written large on the breastplate, scorched and dimpled with impacts. He ran a talon along the jagged hole in the back of the collar, turning it over to inspect the interior. As Doctor Chakwas had said, very little of the damage had penetrated into the important sections. He gingerly buckled himself back into the breastplate. Even wounded, some of his discomfort eased when it was back on. A hardsuit had been his second skin since the age of fifteen.

He turned back before leaving. "Doctor?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you. It's... good to wake up to a familiar face."

She smiled. "Welcome back."


	4. Unfinished Business

"What's the matter, Princess, afraid of your boss' failed experiment? Had to bring a bodyguard?"

Miranda regarded their new arrival with barely suppressed disgust. Subject Zero's lurid tattoos outlined the woman's lean, near-nude form in the dim lighting of the core sub-level. Behind Miranda, Jacob cleared his throat but didn't rise to the bait. Miranda wouldn't admit it to anyone, but she was grateful for his presence. The stories that had filtered back from the Purgatory mission bordered on the unbelievable.

"I brought the files." Miranda held out a short stack of datapads.

Shepard had ignored her protests about giving this... _mistake_ of a person access to classified Cerberus information. Miranda had expected some friction between herself and the commander due to her own unapologetic loyalty to the organization, but this was already going too far. The Illusive Man was unequivocal - Shepard was in charge. But still, after her time on the Lazarus Project, ceding authority to someone who up until very recently had been a pile of meat in her lab was galling. Jacob wasn't much help. After accompanying Shepard to the Purgatory prison station, he displayed a studied ambivalence to the whole affair.

The biotic convict, who'd adopted the name 'Jack' for some reason, snatched the datapads and glanced over them.

"Is there a problem?" The voice accompanied the tread of military boots on metal.

Backlit in the dim stairwell, Shepard's eyes flashed a brief, unsettling red as the ambient lighting of the core's heat exchanger caught the reflective retinal pickups. Those eyes had cost millions of credits alone, built to function as near as possible to the real thing, and to _look_ like the real thing. The cat-like reflection was a side effect, an unexpected detail that irritated Miranda to no end.

It was still more than a little odd to the Cerberus officer to see the body that had lain comatose in her lab for two years animate and talking. That body had been still so long, moving only when ordered to by an array of probes that kept muscles fit, testing motion and keeping joints from freezing up. Robotic, spastic motions devoid of intent. So many times, there had been difficulties and obstacles. When that sealed stasis coffin had at long last arrived at the lab, it had all seemed insurmountable. The great Commander Shepard, savior of the Citadel, hadn't been much to look at.

At first, everything banked on reversing cellular damage to Shepard's brain, then keeping the organ oxygenated and fed while they worked on the rest of the body. Miranda paid particular attention to everything above the neck. So much rested on the face, the eyes, and the mind behind them. The public, as much as Shepard herself, had to believe that this was the original. Every nuance had to be correct. They pored over medical scans, pictures and video of the Spectre, running countless tests and comparisons as they rebuilt the musculature of her face. Behind her back, but not out of range of the monitoring devices, the technicians cursed Miranda's stringent perfectionism. She fired some, banished others to the menial work of monitoring the regrowth of teeth and toenails. She didn't spare much thought for the fate of those that didn't meet her demands- the Illusive Man would not brook any holes in the secrecy that surrounded the Lazarus Project.

A pity the Illusive Man had been so focused on recreating the original Shepard. It was hard not to see all the little imperfections- cheekbones too high, figure too lanky, chest too small... a little editorializing might have improved on what nature had provided the former colonist. Such a rough canvas in a lot of ways, even before sudden trip into the vacuum.

Miranda had been forced to content herself with improving things below the skin. It had hardly been a choice, though, with so much damage. Due to the commander's N classification, it had been more hassle than it should have been to acquire Shepard's Alliance medical records, though the Illusive Man was able to produce information on Shepard's biotic implant that wasn't even to be found there. The old prototype implant could be replaced with a new L5 specced for Shepard's high-output battlefield habits. Bones had to be re-knit, in places re-grown from scratch, threaded through with strengthening carbon-fibre nano-weave. Three tries it had taken them to get the experimental process right, three femurs incinerated and restarted because the weave interfered too much with the creation of the mutated blood cells that would speed oxygenation and clotting factors.

Details, so many details. Each system relying on a dozen others, each upgrade needing to fit in.

Seeing Shepard, once again Miranda couldn't help but evaluate her work. Wilson's attack on the Lazarus facility had resulted in a far more abrupt re-awakening than she'd planned, putting everything in jeopardy. Had the traitor forced his hand, panicked by that day when Shepard had almost fought her way to consciousness? Trapped in another wing of the station, Miranda had been forced to shepherd her re-creation by remote through a gauntlet of mechs. How frustrating those minutes had been. Miranda had vented her rage onto the hapless LOKI units, crushing them to so much junk all the while praying that right off the table, the untested Shepard would live up to her reputation. All that work, all that money, and the result forced to run and fight before it was even ready.

There was plenty to be proud of- even unfinished, Shepard didn't disappoint. She arrived in front of Miranda focused and demanding answers, eyes narrow and hard at the mention of Cerberus. In a backhanded way, it was a good sign. The hardest thing to test while the commander had been comatose was her memory and higher brain function. Anything other than a poor reaction to the identity of her saviors would have been a bad sign, but as far as Miranda could judge, Shepard's mind seemed to be operating normally. To date, neither Moreau nor Doctor Chakwas had voiced any concern. Having known Shepard personally, they would be a better barometer than a dry Alliance psych profile.

But those little imperfections nagged at Miranda. The reflective retinas, the network of thin, unhealed scars that spread across Shepard's face, the ones that still covered her body. Unfinished business, all of it.

"The cheerleader is just afraid I'll find out the truth!" Jack sneered. "I bet there's nothing here but more lies!" She waved the datapads with contempt.

Miranda tossed her head, anger rising. Why the Illusive Man thought Subject Zero would be so valuable to a high-risk mission was another matter, but questioning him was a luxury she didn't indulge in. There was a reason she enjoyed status as one of his favored agents, to the point of being one of the few people to have ever been in the same room with him. But the tattooed woman felt like a very loose screw in an otherwise tight operation.

Perhaps a little prodding would send her over the edge, give Shepard an excuse to put her under... tighter controls for a while. "You should learn to recognize charity when you see it, ungrateful-"

Jack tensed and flared. The metal cot came off the floor in a whorl of dark energy. A second later, an answering swell came from Miranda's right, throwing the cot against the far bulkhead with enough force to deform the frame.

Still flickering with the dying biotic corona, Shepard strode past Miranda and stopped in front of Jack.

"Well, come on, then," Shepard said, motioning to the former convict.

Only the briefest confusion flashed across Jack's face. Any normal person might have had taken a moment to reconsider the whole thing, but it was increasingly evident that Jack wasn't prone to second guessing the world as it presented itself to her. In a flash, a swell of dark energy bloomed around her. Even across the room, Miranda could feel the raw power roil off the tattooed woman.

Just as the energy built into a crescendo, Shepard lashed out with her foot, slamming the toe of her boot into Jack's shin. Jack stumbled with a startled bark of pain, her corona flickering out.

"Commander-" Jacob started, alarmed.

"Stay out of this!" Shepard snapped.

With a growl, Jack just charged.

Miranda watched in horrified fascination as the scene exploded. Jack was a fighter to the bone, there was no doubt. There was no formal training in her movements, no space wasted on pretty posing- nothing but the practical lessons of survival flowed through her wiry body. Her face was twisted into an expression that was half a snarl of hate, half a gleeful grin, all bared teeth and wide eyes. By contrast Shepard moved with the tight conservation of energy that was part Alliance hand-to-hand fighting and part raw intensity. Her face stayed expressionless as she dodged, blocked, or simply took the flurry of blows Jack rained down on her.

From Miranda's bystander perspective, Shepard's strategy became clear. Even a biotic as powerful as Jack needed time to focus, and in that half-second, Shepard scattered the dark energy buildup with a strike designed to be not so much damaging but as distracting as possible. And every time her killer blow was thwarted, Jack became more enraged, choking on the same short-fuse fury that made her so deadly.

Still, that rage nearly won out. In the flurry, Jack caught Shepard square in the face with an elbow. For a heartbeat, it seemed like the tide would turn as Shepard staggered back, blood flowing from her nose. Her gambit teetering on failure, the commander abandoned finesse and waded back in. The gloves were off. Suddenly, Shepard threw all of her raw strength into the fight, shifting from evasion to throwing powerful, fight-stopping hits. Unbidden, a thrill of vicious satisfaction coursed through Miranda. Shepard's augmented musculature was getting a work-out, and proving its worth.

It only took a few seconds before Jack was sprawled on the floor, with Shepard twisting the convict's arm and shoulder into a painful lock.

"_I'm_ the king of this castle," Shepard stated. Blood spattered the deck plates next to Jack's face.

Jack snarled, struggling against the hold. Shepard leaned in and twisted the shoulder joint further.

"Aaagh, bitch!" Jack roared, eyes bulging. Her booted feet scissored along the ground, groping for any purchase that would allow her to turn the tables. Shocks of unfocused dark energy distortion crackled along her limbs.

"Yeah, I'm that too."

Shepard held her fast for another few seconds, then suddenly relented, releasing Jack and standing. Jack sprang up off the floor, spinning to her feet and into a fighter's crouch in one quick move. Shepard lunged forward, and Jack actually flinched, rocking back a step as the commander pulled her punch up just short.

The tableau held for a moment, the two women staring each other down over their bloody faces, panting with exertion. Could it be that the psychotic convict wasn't in the mood for another pounding?

Shepard straightened and backed off. "I kept my promise," she said, gesturing to the datapads scattered on the floor. "I gave Lawson an order, and she followed it. That's the way things work around here. But if you feel like taking a swing at someone on my crew, you come take a swing at _me. _ We can have it out any time you like."

"I'll bring my shotgun next time," Jack spat, swiping the back of her forearm across her bloody mouth.

"Do that." Shepard's tone left no doubt that she would answer in kind.

Unbelievably, Jack quirked a vicious little smile.

"We're done here." Squaring her shoulders, Shepard motioned to Miranda and Jacob, then turned and made for the stairs. Her expression betrayed nothing of the red stain soaking into the front of her shirt.

The two Cerberus agents trailed after Shepard up to the elevator, where the commander pressed the call panel. Abruptly, she stripped off the top of her fatigues, leaving only the shirt beneath. She wadded up the material and mopped at the blood, brief pain flickering across her face.

"That was... really necessary, was it?" Miranda asked.

Shepard's lips pulled back in a smirk, displaying a smile of gory piano-keys. None of them were broken, at least. A year ago, the entire front set of those teeth had finished regrowth and had been installed into her skull. There had been considerable argument over the correct sizing.

"If you're going to have a conversation with someone, you have to speak the same language first," Shepard said.

"A holding cell would have cooled her heels just fine."

"Miss Lawson, I think we've seen ample evidence of the effectiveness of holding cells on Jack."

"That's no joke," Jacob murmured.

Miranda spared him an irritated look, pushing a strand of hair back. "It might have saved you a broken nose..."

Shepard gave a dark chuckle just as the elevator door opened. "It was coming now or later. S'cuse me, I have to report to the med-bay for my lecture."

She closed the door behind her, leaving the two of them standing in the empty hallway overlooking the cargo bay. Jacob gave a disbelieving shake of his head.

Miranda planted her hands on her hips, staring at the closed door in consternation. "Two years. Two years, and I've resurrected a lunatic."


	5. Pushing Occam

In two years, the armor never really came off.

Walking through the halls of Arcturus station, it felt to Kaidan that even his dress blues generated a barrier of their own. Everyone knew him, recognized the service stripes on his chest. Biotic. Staff Commander. Battle of the Citadel. Star of Terra. Those last two weighed far more than the strips of cloth they were painted on, far more than a full suit of combat armor.

He didn't really like being on Arcturus. It was full of reminders of the past, the architecture unpleasantly reminiscent of Jump Zero. But one didn't refuse a call from Admiral Hackett for a meeting, especially not in light of the disturbing spate of attacks on outlying human colonies. The meeting was supposed to be an exchange of information across several commands, but Kaidan wasn't sure what he was expected to contribute. He and his marine squad had just returned from another round of chasing pirate signals, and he knew next to nothing about the colony situation.

He ran over his to-do list in his head. He needed to take a trip to Requisitions: Stenham needed replacement shield capacitors for his Onyx, Inoue's sniper rifle sight was chipped, and their micro-fabricator needed a part. After all that, Special Projects would want to talk about the latest report he'd submitted about the AEGIS shield system he was field-testing for them; a kinetic barrier system that focused his own biotic power from a nebulous field into a focused series of localized shields protecting his vital areas. An extra layer of protection in addition to his normal kinetic barrier. Getting used to the thing had taken some time- at first getting his biotics to sync up with the receivers had felt like balancing a marble on a sheet of glass. But he enjoyed the challenge, the technology, the potential of it. Another piece of gear he could tinker with to his heart's content, and the techs who built it listened to him when he made suggestions.

On those occasions when he got back to base, that was.

It felt to Kaidan like he was being kept out of the way. Though after months of banging his head against the immovable wall of denial that had been erected around anyone of authority, it felt good to be away. He could go on doing his job and leave the politicians to devour each other. And at least out there he had less chance of running into one of the thousands of images or references to Commander Shepard that for a while seemed to paint every inch of the Extranet. The worst was when she started pitching for Alliance recruitment. Everyone wanted to ask him about it, and hearing her not-quite-right composite voice made him feel ill.

Time, he rationalized, would dull the pain and guilt. He told himself that time had pushed him past the events on Brain Camp, and so it would again. Now, he had the perspective of adulthood and the numerous responsibilities of his job to carry him along. There was always something more to do. When things got bad, he could work himself to exhaustion and then fall into bed, asleep before the ghosts drifted through his head. If he could just keep his head down and survive, time would do its job.

For a long time after the loss of the _Normandy_, Kaidan could feel the eyes of Alliance evaluators on him, watching him for signs of depression or psychosis. He was a hero, a biotic one at that, and so they had a vested interest in making sure he conformed to the appropriate image. He skipped shore leave. They requested that he attend a psychological evaluation. He had to resist the urge to get angry, to call out their paranoia about the supposed fragility of his L2 implant. But in the end he relented and sat through it. He'd been through so many psych evals in his life that he knew just what they wanted to hear. He could paint the perfect picture for them- the right balance of hurt but healing that would make them leave him alone.

His rank and status was a boon- many of the _Normandy_ survivors hadn't been so lucky. Kaidan watched in helpless anger as one by one, they were separated, reassigned or quietly discharged. Their stories were suppressed, along with any mention of "Reapers". Perhaps worst of all, Joker was grounded on the excuse of post-traumatic stress.

Kaidan's attempt to help had degenerated into an argument, then worse, as the agony off his loss finally got away from him. One time, and one time only, but in that one moment, the force of his rage stunned even him. He'd stood rigid, careful as always to keep his hands at his sides, not risking even the slightest chance that his posture could get close to the mnemonic that would trigger a biotic surge. So it was only three words, but they hit as hard as the blow that had ended Vyrnnus. _You killed her._

Within a month, Joker resigned from the Alliance and disappeared into the private sector. Time, too much time, dragged by until Kaidan's guilt finally got the better of him. He could do nothing about Shepard, but he could apologize to a friend. But his messages went unanswered, and thus, it seemed to him, the long, tortured destruction of the _Normandy_ was complete.

Not nearly long enough ago. In the cold, metal hallways of Arcturus, headquarters of the Alliance fleet, Kaidan gathered himself for the meeting. In the top tiers of the warrenlike station, past security checkpoints, he located the right room. It was a low-profile affair- the brass wasn't making a public issue of the colony situation as of yet. Within, a large conference table and several high-resolution holo-projectors sat under flush ambient lighting. Kaidan went to his seat and waited, standing, as the rest of the attendees filed in, saluting each. Captain Nasser of the Pirate Activities Division of ACI, Alliance Central Intelligence. Captain Silah and Captain Henshan, Terminus patrol vessels. Admiral Hackett, the iron-fisted head of Fifth Fleet. And finally, Rear Admiral Tennyson, barrel-chested ex-commander of the N Special Forces and professional pain in the backside to the rest of the Alliance brass.

Kaidan hadn't often communicated with Shepard's old N mentor. After the loss of the SR-1, he hadn't really known what to say. The admiral nodded to Kaidan, but his expression was studied and blank.

After they were seated, they began discussing the colony situation. The news seemed beyond belief. Colony attacks took the form of what had happened on Mindor; violent and messy affairs. Slavers thrived on the havoc and fear they created. Yet now, whole colonies were being depopulated without so much as a murmur. Nothing felt right. As he'd predicted, Kaidan spent most of the meeting listening, silently asking himself what he was doing there. As the higher ranked officers traded theories and spotty intelligence, Kaidan began to wonder if they were trying to see how long they could go on before he could be goaded into suggesting that one thing that no one wanted to hear- Reapers.

He'd been down that road before, and it led nowhere. Across the table, Admiral Hackett matched Kaidan's silence with his own stony stare, his displeasure at the lack of concrete information written all over his lined face. The room reeked of the kind of upper-echelon politics that Kaidan tried very hard to avoid in his day-to-day life.

After some time, Tennyson produced a datapad and called for the attendees attention. "I have some intel from Omega. Now, the relevance of this intel to the colony situation is unproven. But since we're all talking about Cerberus, I'm sure you'll agree that the coincidence is troubling."

"Just spit it out, Tennyson," Silah snapped. The narrow-faced captain had been getting steadily more agitated as the meeting wore on.

The rear admiral spared a brief glare for the captain, then raised his datapad. "One of my contacts on Omega sent me some images, taken five days ago."

The screen changed to an image of a space station docking berth. In stark contrast to the run-down look of the machinery, the ship clamped to the berth was sleek and new. Kaidan's mouth opened, wordless. Even though only some of the ship was visible, there was no mistaking that silhouette- no ship in any fleet that he knew of ever shared its particular hybrid aesthetic.

"What the hell?" Nasser said, echoing the expressions of everyone else in the room.

Tennyson tapped a few more commands into his datapad. The picture snapped and zoomed in, becoming grainy. But the thick white lettering against black was easy to make out. Half the word was obscured by the docking ramp, but the letters N-O-R-M were visible.

Kaidan just stared at the image as a chatter of conversation erupted around him.

"This isn't the SR-1," Tennyson cut in. He tapped the datapad again. A glowing overlay popped over the image, detaching into a three-dimensional wireframe of the ship. "Scale calculations derived from the image indicate that this ship is at least fifty percent larger than the original." A blue wireframe popped in next to the orange one, smaller.

"Is this some merc group's idea of a sick joke?"

"Don't be ridiculous, no merc group has the facilities to build a frigate that size from scratch, _let alone_ do so without our knowledge!"

"That's assuming the ship has any of the technology of the original..."

Tennyson let the argument continue for a minute before clearing his throat. "This was taken in the Omega market area, same day."

A new picture appeared. Three figures stood outlined against the grimy hallways of the asteroid station. A man in lightly armored fatigues, and a woman in a bodysuit that left little to the imagination. In stark contrast, the third was in full combat armor, her female figure not quite obscured by the thick plates. All three were well armed.

Captain Nasser covered her mouth in surprise. "Taylor...!"

Tennyson's eyes flicked over the Captain for a brief moment before continuing. In the display panels, a pair of profile pictures appeared. "Yes. The man is Jacob Taylor, Alliance marine under Major Izunami and a participant in the Alliance corsair program. He was involved in stopping the plague incident with the batarian ambassador on the Citadel, but he resigned from the Alliance after the Eden Prime attack.

"The woman is Miranda Lawson. Records on her are incomplete, but she has had quite a career, mostly, we believe, as an information broker. We have next to nothing on her movements in the past two years, until now.

"And the last..."

Tracking lines appeared on the screen, zooming in on the armored figure. The scanner traced the outlines of the face under the helmet and reconstructed it, displaying it large in the neighboring panel.

"... needs no introduction to anyone here."

A numbing cold spread through Kaidan's limbs as he stared at the image. The scattered gasps of the other officers disappeared into a mumbling. He felt as if he could have faded away on the spot, but for the heart that continued to doggedly pump oxygen into his brain.

"Miranda Lawson and Jacob Taylor are known agents of Cerberus," Tennyson said in his penetrating voice. "My source tells me that all of them arrived and departed in this new _Normandy_."

_... Cerberus._ Kaidan couldn't tear his eyes away from the ghost filling the glowing picture. A red stripe ran down her right arm, and the N7 logo was stamped onto the collar of the breastplate. Even the way she stood seemed familiar- a stance that never quite left the tense side of casual.

"Commander Alenko."

Kaidan glanced around. All eyes in the room were on him.

Silah leaned forward, scanning Kaidan as if he could read some truth from the threads of his uniform. "Can you shed any light on this? Your report seemed to indicate that Shepard failed to get to an escape pod..."

_Beams of yellow fire cut the ship in half. I couldn't... the pod door closed..._

"Everything that happened is in my report." The words came out choked. Kaidan shut his mouth against the startling well of pain that constricted his chest.

"What were the possibilities that she was picked up by a third party? Or even the attacking vessel?"

Kaidan's eyes inexorably went back to the image as he tried in vain to find a response that wouldn't see him demoted.

"I suggest a recess," Hackett cut in, standing. "This is a lot to take in- Cerberus' potential involvement in the colony attacks is bad enough. I have to make some calls. We'll reconvene in two hours."

Kaidan escaped the stifling room with the tatters of his willpower more or less intact, but his head was on fire. He was walking the hallway, dazed and directionless, when Rear Admiral Tennyson caught up with him. With a wordless nod, Kaidan let himself be led down another level to a small office. It was spare, but offered a welcome respite from the more public hallways.

_Why didn't you tell me? _ The words almost burst out the second the door closed. Kaidan kept himself in check, but only just. He already knew the response, anyway. Verification, secrets, all the usual things. Tennyson tossed the datapad down on his desk and crossed to the window. Outside, the endless field of stars was blotted out here and there by the shadow of orbiting military ships. A distant blue pulse marked a vessel jumping to FTL.

At length, the rear admiral turned and sat down. He spread his hands flat on his desk. "We're looking at two potential scenarios. One is that Cerberus is using Shepard's identity- it could be anyone wearing that face."

Kaidan swallowed and groped for his voice. "To... to what end, though?"

"We don't know yet. But she was a powerful symbol for humanity, and I can think of any number of potential benefits for Cerberus. And there would be a great deal fewer ways to verify her identity out in the Terminus Systems."

"But building a new _Normandy_ for an impostor?"

"It's a huge investment of resources, even if the ship doesn't have the same stealth technology. But Cerberus isn't known for engaging in half-measures, so it probably does. I'd lay money on that bet."

Kaidan ran his hand through his hair, trying in vain to process everything.

"There's another possibility." Tennyson laced his fingers together, his expression darkening. "Shepard played all of us."

Kaidan dropped his arm and stared at the admiral open-mouthed. "You... you can't seriously believe that," he breathed. "Shepard _hated_ Cerberus!"

"Se we were lead to believe, yes."

"'So we were lead to believe'? I was in the _room_ when she found out about what they did to her squad on Akuze! She nearly blew that doctor's head off on the spot! _You_ trained her! How can you possibly think-"

"Damn it, Alenko!" Tennyson smacked his fist into the table with a thud that made the datapad bounce. "Occam's Razor is a bitch, but we have to face facts! There simply aren't any other feasible scenarios!"

Kaidan turned to the chair at the other end of the room and collapsed into it before his knees gave out. His brain refused to roll over the possibility.

"Wait a minute," he said after a moment, turning back to Tennyson. "_That's_ why I was invited to that meeting, wasn't it? You were _testing_ me. Seeing how I would react!"

Tennyson's mouth flattened into a hard line. "Wasn't my idea, but yes, that's how it ended up. Hackett wanted the others to see it for themselves, to cut off any accusations before they start. But you're still in a tight spot- you're going to have to watch what you say."

"Is that a threat?"

The admiral sighed, deflating. The weariness of countless battles seemed to press down on his broad shoulders. "It's a _warning_, Alenko. You know enough about Saren, Sovereign, and Cerberus to make a lot of people nervous."

Kaidan folded his arms, scowling at the other man. "Give me a break! None of that makes a damn difference. I start talking about Reapers, and they threaten to cart me off to the asylum for broken L2s. You saw how they treated the crew after the SR-1 went down, how they treated 'what we know'."

Silence stretched out for a few seconds before the admiral spoke again. "Take a few minutes. When we reconvene, you're going to be getting a new assignment. Funds and materials have been approved to shore up defences of Terminus colonies. You're going to Horizon."

"Horizon?"

"It's a little free startup out in the Shadow Sea. Nice place, good weather, but they don't like Alliance much."

"Oh, great."

"It's not ideal, but our options are limited. We have to do _something_. Getting this alone past the budget committee was a nightmare. Just get the guns set up, and keep your eyes open. The scale of these attacks suggests something more, maybe an inside source, something. Entire colonies going out like a lightbulb, without a whisper... just doesn't make sense. Even for Cerberus."

Kaidan said nothing, staring at the floor. He'd heard plenty about the colonials who went out into the Terminus and wanted nothing more to do with Earth, the Alliance or the Citadel. _I bet they just adore biotics, too._

The admiral leaned forward. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Kaidan replied curtly, but the vicious writhing in his stomach lent the lie to those words.

Tennyson picked up his datapad. "Alenko."

Kaidan met his gaze.

"Councilor Anderson himself requested you and your squad be sent on this assignment," the admiral said, "because _you_ know what to look for if it's... _them_. We need evidence."

Anderson. Another name Kaidan had all but given up on. "Cerberus, or the Reapers?"

"Hackett wants the former, but wherever the evidence points. I'll keep you advised if I learn anything more about... her."

Kaidan rubbed his eyes with thumb and forefinger._ Why... is it really possible...?_ The door hissed and clicked as it cycled closed behind Tennyson. Welcome silence pervaded the small office.

A traitor or a fake. Kaidan wasn't sure which he thought was worse. An impostor should be easy to deal with, just another manipulative Cerberus trick. He should want that to be it- just a fake. But in a moment of sick realization, he didn't, because no matter what the reason, the chance that she really was alive was overwhelming.

_I'm fine._ He'd been telling himself that for a long time, and had almost made himself believe it.


	6. Vital Wavelength

Garrus wasn't sure he was happy to see Omega's expanses of rust-brown metal and rock again so soon. He had to content himself with the knowledge that any of the mercs who had seen his face were dead now, and the rest knew him only as 'Archangel', who was now presumed dead. As it was, his face had been... somewhat altered since the fiery exit from his lair. His armor still sported the blast mark from Tarak's missile. For the moment, the pocked and blasted surface matched his new countenance.

It was only Shepard and himself dockside. Since he'd spent the past year dealing with the station's vendors first-hand, she had asked him to come along while looking for supplies and inexpensive upgrades. Of course, his knowledge didn't stop her from putting her own spin on things- he watched with considerable amusement as Shepard bullied a discount out of Harrot by leveraging the elcor's poor treatment of a quarian shopkeeper downstairs. Couldn't have happened to a nicer guy, as the humans were fond of saying. On the market floor, Harrot wasn't known for his upright business practices, but as it turned out, the elcor's guts weren't as sturdy as his thick frame.

Most people went about their day, accepting the world the way it was. But not Shepard. She pried into everything and adjusted it to her will. In the two years of her absence, Garrus had almost forgotten what it was like to just follow along and watch.

Down in the markets, it still came as a surprise when Shepard stopped, bringing Garrus up short. He watched as she raised her omni-tool and touched a few commands, and her armor transponder disappeared from his HUD. The suit flexed as it relaxed, powering down.

Garrus looked at her askance. "What are you doing?"

"No one else has touched your gear, right?" she replied, pulling off her helmet.

"Not since I was in the medbay, no." Garrus drew himself up without thinking. He spent hours tinkering with the smallest details of his equipment, he wasn't about to allow someone else's idea of routine maintenance mess up his settings.

"Good. I had Doctor Chakwas make sure no one did anything to it while you were out. Now, where would you go if you didn't want to be bothered for an hour or so?"

The turian blinked. "Well, my hideout was perfect for that, but now it's full of holes. And they probably bugged it in case I go back." He flicked his mandibles in idle speculation. What was she thinking? "There's... a place I've stayed before, only a deck down from here. It's above a small bar, they've got a few rooms upstairs that they don't tell very many people about. There's a back door, and they're light on surveillance gear. Anything they _do_ have, I can make sure it suffers from a temporary malfunction."

"Sounds good. Lead the way."

"Feeling the need to work off some steam?" he ventured, bemused.

She smiled at him sidelong. "I'm afraid it's not nearly that exciting. No, I need to check something."

The hallways of Omega scrolled along around them as they walked. Such a different place than the Citadel, but no less vibrant in its own grimy way. Even the smells told their own stories- the foulness of something rotting in a dark corner, the musty mildew of malfunctioning atmospheric systems, or the clean smell of ozone and grease that wafted out of the fabricator's market. Usually, you could even smell the vorcha coming. On the Citadel, it was often hard to see the criminals- they hid behind wealth, political clout and smokescreens of hired underlings. But no one on Omega whined about discrimination or threatened to call their lawyers. If they had something to hide, they were far more likely to pull a gun, and if nothing else it forced a quick resolution to the situation.

As they approached the bar, Garrus called up his omni-tool and logged into one of the servers in Omega's labyrinthine internal network, selecting one of his many online aliases. He had accumulated a lot of favors during his time as the elusive Archangel, spread liberally over a few different personas. Now was as good a time as any to call one of them in. It took only a minute for the acknowledgment of his request to come back to him.

"This way," he said, turning down a side corridor. "Might want to hold your breath."

The reek of a nearby garbage chute grew as they made their way through air grown stale with lack of circulation. After a quick check for anyone watching, Garrus keyed a sequence into his omni-tool and waited. A section of wall recessed on silent tracks, then slid to the side, revealing a dim hallway beyond. Garrus stepped carefully around the crates piled up next to the opening. Shepard followed, and the door slid shut, cutting off the foul smell.

"Neat," Shepard said.

"A good place to disappear for a few days, or an hour or two." Garrus raised an eyebrow at her, but in the dim hall, she didn't settle his growing curiosity.

He spent a moment listening, but the hallway was silent but for the two of them. He led the way to a stairwell that extended above them, and plunged away into a pitch-dark cellar. The stairs up led to a small hall with a set of doors on either side, and a third at the end. Another code sequence opened the door on the right. The room beyond was very small, with barely enough space for a turian-style bed and a small bathroom. It was lined with metal walls and lit only by a single lamp recessed into the ceiling. Hardly comfortable, but the tight confines did lend a certain air of privacy that was seldom available on Omega. Garrus popped his omni-tool again and ran through his suite of detection scans. They came up empty.

Shepard skirted around him into the room. "So, no one's listening?"

"No." Garrus shut off his tool. "Is that why you powered down, in case of eavesdropping?"

She nodded. "This is a good suit, but I don't know what's under the hood. But... it's more than that. I need you to do something for me."

Garrus watched, perplexed, as Shepard began unclipping the lock points of her armor. He assumed at first that she wanted him to adjust something on the armor, but this seemed too involved for that.

"Right now... you're the only person I can really trust, Garrus. Joker, Chakwas, probably them too, but Cerberus signs their paychecks. You, you have no stake. They put a bunch of hardware into me, and I don't know what most of it does. I need to know if anything is putting out a signal."

Understanding was beginning to dawn in Garrus' head. "Like a tracker?"

"Tracker, data feed, anything. My eyes are artificial. What if they're sending a stream somewhere? Or my comm implant?" She shrugged out of the torso section of her armor, pulling away the underlayer with it, revealing a short-sleeved shirt. "Lawson claims that there isn't any kind of coercion device, but I think I want a second opinion." She dropped the discarded suit on the bed.

"And you can't ask Doctor Chakwas," he ventured.

"Right. She might not even know herself- I think Lawson is fond of 'need to know'. But yeah, I can't sit in a Cerberus medbay and ask about Cerberus spy implants. Every inch of that ship is probably bugged. They spent four billion credits bringing me back- they aren't going to let that investment far off the leash, no matter what they say about letting me do things my way."

Garrus blinked at the monetary figure. "That's a lot of credits."

"And the SR-2 on top of that." She pointed at her left forearm. "Start here."

Garrus activated his omni-tool and swept his hand a few centimeters over Shepard's arm, dialing the sensor across several depths and bands.

"I'm not getting anything," he said. "I see an inorganic mass around one of your arm bones, but nothing transmitting."

Shepard grunted. "Figures. They took out my damn dog tags."

"Your what?"

"Alliance identification implants. A long time ago on Earth, a soldier's ID was stamped on a metal medallion worn around the neck, like the tag for a pet. We still call 'em that- soldier humor."

"The turian army puts our ID tags in our armor," Garrus said. "We're never supposed to be out of it anyway. It would be an encrypted string I assume?"

"Yes, it's gibberish unless it's matched to an Alliance database."

"That scar on your arm, it's gone," Garrus remarked.

She nodded, balling her hand into a fist. "The thresher did that on Akuze, nearly gutted me too. The tendons in my forearm were severed, the bones broken, I almost lost the hand. They managed to put it all back together, but the tendons were a bit shorter than normal, so I always had a bit of pull when I gripped with this hand. Been that way for six years. Up until I woke up in the Lazarus lab, anyway. Now, it's... fine. Good as new." She didn't look pleased at the change.

Garrus adjusted the scanning depth, trying to find a good wavelength for flesh as he moved around behind her. "You... didn't want to do this yourself?"

"My tool comes from Cerberus too. Besides, you always had all those extra toys loaded on yours, and you have the experience in looking for things like this, at least in machines."

He allowed himself a chuckle. "Well, I suppose there's that. I could take a look at your tool, see if there's any bots hidden on it."

"I'd appreciate that." She shifted. "I must sound pretty damn paranoid right now."

Garrus cocked his head, thinking it over before answering. "When you first told me they brought you back, I didn't realize... the scope of it. It was just so hard to believe. But then I think about everything we saw, back when we were chasing Saren, and it doesn't sound paranoid anymore."

There was an odd kind of intimacy to this that Garrus hadn't been prepared for. Seeing organs laid out in a diagram was quite a different thing than seeing them pulsing and shifting with life as they pushed the essential fluids around a body. He adjusted the scanning depth again. The medical suite on his tool was basic, and designed for turian biology. He wasn't quite sure what he was seeing inside her torso, but there were several inorganic masses scattered throughout the tissue and bones. A few complicated-looking devices clung to her spinal column, and her left shoulder joint seemed to be entirely artificial.

"I'd been meaning to ask you," Garrus said as he continued the scan, sweeping the tool down her back, "you didn't know I was Archangel, did you?"

"The Illusive Man gave me a list of dossiers, people who will supposedly make a team capable of bringing the fight to the Collectors. The dossier on Archangel didn't include your identity, only your exploits. If he knew it was you, he didn't let on."

He flared his mandibles. "I guess I'm supposed to be flattered that I caught his attention."

She smirked over her shoulder in answer.

"Maybe it's a good thing his dossier wasn't up to date," he went on absently. "What happened with Sidonis might have changed his opinion... Hmm."

"What is it? Did you find something."

"A power source, but it isn't transmitting anything. Near the base of your spine."

"Can you wipe it?"

Garrus pulled his hand back. "What if it's something vital? It could kill you."

Shepard growled softly.

"Well, it isn't putting out a signal right now," the turian explained. "It could be an auxiliary power source for the active cybernetics like your eyes, or some kind of biometric data processing."

"What's the theoretical distance something like that could transmit?"

"I don't know a lot about cybernetics, Shepard."

"But you know a lot about computer systems. Speculate."

Garrus ran an absent hand over the padded dressing covering his scars. "Well, distance is always dependent on power output, and you have to account for the signal deadening that your body will cause. It doesn't make any sense to put a high-power system into a body, because any malfunction has the chance to cause fatal damage to your organic nervous system. Based on the numbers I'm seeing here, I'd say no more than a few feet."

"So I'm probably not sending real-time visual feedback to The Illusive Man's personal vidscreen. There's a certain comfort in that, I suppose."

Garrus shook his head. "Too much chance of interception of such a high-bandwidth signal, if you ask me. If I wanted to do something like that, I'd run on-site storage then do one-time dumps to a base station at intervals... like when you're asleep."

"Oh, wonderful. That's comforting."

"It could also be transmitting to your armor for storage."

Her face twisted into a frustrated grimace. "Screwed coming and going."

"Storage on your armor doesn't strike me as likely, though," Garrus said. "The extra storage sectors would be conspicuous to anything more than a cursory look. Even if you aren't a technical expert, you're still particular about your gear. Too much of a risk of you finding something by putting it somewhere you, or someone else, would look. No, much easier to do it on the ship. It could be masked as medical systems, embedded in one of the AIs blocks. You wouldn't go looking there."

She regarded her armor with a deep frown.

"But, a low-power transfer like that is easy to interfere with," he offered. "Say, by a short-range scrambler you might accidentally drop under your bed."

"I assume you can hook me up?"

"Good, unobtrusive scramblers kept me alive on Omega, Shepard. Do you like them in fake ammo clip or extra-thick datapad?"

"I'm not picky," she said with a wan smile. "It's a long shot, but better than nothing."

"I can set something up to sniff around for unscheduled transfers. Might take a while to filter out the noise of the ship's baseline operations, though."

"Sounds good."

"Does it settle your question?"

"Narrows it, I guess." She bent to pick up the heavy armor, then began threading herself back into it. "Maybe I'm just trying to figure out how to fit into this new body."

"It feels different?"

"Yes and no. They augmented things, adjusted things... It's like being a teenager again, not quite knowing where my limbs are. I'm stronger than I remember, and it messes up my instincts."

Garrus wasn't sure he understood the reference to adolescence, but he let it pass.

Shepard shifted to settle the armor into place. "It feels... loose, out of place somehow. Everything hurts in weird ways, like a phantom limb pain I can't nail down. They say I was woken up too early, before everything was ready. It _feels_ that way." She shrugged irritably. "That sounds crazy, I'm sure. I don't know how to describe it. I don't even know if I'm imagining it or not."

She picked up her helmet. Unsure of what to say, Garrus edged toward the door, assuming she wanted to leave.

"Let's get out of here. But... Garrus?"

The turian turned.

"You... don't have to do this." She looked up at him. "I think I'm stuck, but you're not. You're free of Omega, you could go anywhere you want."

Garrus frowned. "I have nowhere else to go, Shepard."

"But you don't have to get involved with Cerberus. They want us to go through the Omega-4 relay. That's a one-way trip. We're being used and we'll be discarded or worse once we're done."

"Soldiers get used, it's our job. We go where we're needed." He said the word without thinking. _Soldier_. It had been a long time since he'd thought of himself that way, but it had been on his mind since waking up in the medbay. It evoked a certain pride- sacrifice for a spirit's common cause. Pride was hard to come by lately.

She shook her head. "Not like this."

"Your old captain... Anderson. You made him a Councilor. Did you talk to him?"

Shepard smoothed a hand over her hair, a stricken expression crossing her face. "I did. He... didn't tell me very much. I even talked to the rest of the Council, they re-instated my Spectre status, on the provision that I stay in Terminus space. It's just a technicality, not actual support. They want nothing to do with me because I'm affiliated with a terrorist organization."

"And the Collectors? It doesn't matter that they've escalated to entire colonies?"

"They think I dreamed up the whole Reaper threat. Saren is dead, the geth are subdued, the problem is solved. The colony disappearances are 'a human problem'. It's all a big mess, Garrus." Her voice dropped. "I don't know how I can ask you to do this, or if I could forgive myself if you got killed over it- working for an organization that wants your people under their heel. You risked your life to help me once, you should be able to live the rest of your life in peace."

"Knowing that I stood by and did nothing?"

She met his gaze and held it for a long moment.

Up until then, he hadn't spared a lot of thought about the forces that had led him to Omega. He'd tried not to think about the friends he'd lost, the connections he'd allowed to wither in his drive to find something that would staunch the feeling of frustration, the bitter helplessness of being a small part of a greater spirit too stubborn to see the threat before it.

He sighed. "I couldn't fight the Reapers as a C-Sec officer. But I had to do something, Shepard, something more than wanting to strangle my superior officer every morning. Maybe it was a cheap substitute, but every slaver and drug runner I put down made things a little bit better out there. But now you're back and you have a trail again. Things aren't the same, but that doesn't matter. This has to be done."

"Has to be done," she echoed, though her voice had a distant quality. She crammed her helmet back on. "Well, thank you. You have no idea what it means to know I have at least one person I know I can trust."

The turian ducked his head. "I might."

He couldn't quite explain in words how her absence had left a hole, a wound that only seemed to get worse with every denial of the truth about the Reapers. How no one seemed willing to take her place, but he'd tried, and ultimately failed. Even with everything that was still so very wrong, with Cerberus, with all of it, what it meant to have her back.


	7. Sand Storm

Jack was getting bored, which was rarely a good sign for anyone.

She aimed a vicious kick at a piece of metal debris. Her steel-toed boot connected with a satisfying thump, but in the heavy gravity, it barely traveled any kind of satisfying distance before landing in the dusty soil. Dust and sand seemed to be the common theme of this godforsaken dirt-ball. Jack had no idea where they were, aside from it being in the Eagle Nebula, but she didn't much care. Just that it was cold, windy and boring as hell.

"The fuck are we doing here, anyway?" she demanded.

"Heaven knows," Miranda murmured.

Jack shot the Cerberus cheerleader a smirk. The edge of the breather mask clamped over Jack's face irritated her, trapping grit against her cheeks. She never thought she'd envy Shepard or the turian's heavy armor, but those suits were sealed... and heated. The jacket she'd been handed before getting into the shuttle didn't seem adequate, aside from looking lousy.

"I'm not in the habit of bypassing distress calls," Shepard said, regarding the beacon emitter with folded arms. It was sitting akimbo on the rocks, flashing blue from underneath its metal hood.

More hero crap. At least Shepard had a spine in her, something that had kept Jack from blowing the commander's head off the second her back was turned. Purgatory had been fun for a while, in its own demented kind of way, but cryo-stasis had taken even that. Cowards, the lot, and Kuril the worst of them. Jack had been denied the pleasure of tearing the rotten turian warden limb from limb. At least there had been plenty of hapless Suns guards to absorb the rage bred of captivity.

"Didn't the AI say there was no one down here?" Jack said. "So what, do they hand out medals for saving a bunch of boxes?"

"There's always the possibility of good salvage." Garrus' visored helmet revealed nothing of his expression, but he moved between the scattered crates with obvious interest.

Jack wasn't too sure what to make of the turian. He hardly seemed to pay any attention to her, which was a welcome relief from the self-important turian assholes on Purgatory. She'd heard that he was a big shot on Omega for a while, too, which gave him some kind of credibility. It would explain his nose for scrap, anyway.

She surveyed the scene, skeptical. "Guess saving humanity isn't a charity operation, huh?"

"Never has been," Shepard said with a shrug.

It just looked like a bad day at the warehouse, as far as Jack was concerned. The rocky valley was full of scattered debris; the broken ribs and deck plating of the ship, and piles of industrial shipping crates printed with the logo of Hahne-Kedar. At one end of the valley, the hulk of the crashed freighter could just be seen jutting out of the rocks, its thrusters trailing thin wisps of smoke that swirled away into nothingness. The sky was painted in twilight, streaked with the auroras of leaked gasses ionizing in the steeply slanted sun.

Jack was free again, after a fashion. Or else in a different kind of prison. The walls of a starship still hemmed her in, the FTL drive decided where she went. But the food was better, and except for that nosy Chambers chick, the people left her alone. At least a few creative threats had sent the yeoman scampering back to the upper decks right quick. Then there was Lawson. Jack's attention always drifted whenever the cheerleader yapped about hobgoblins from beyond the Omega-4 relay stealing humans from their beds like bogeymen. Cerberus was just another gang with their stupid scrap, only with cleaner quarters and a hell of a lot more money.

Shepard. Now that was a name Jack had heard before, how long ago was it? Didn't matter, only that the woman had something of a reputation for making trouble and getting away with it, even getting called a hero. Cerberus or no, there should be some fun to be had following this 'hero' around. Trouble was, to date this dusty dirt-ball wasn't living up.

The problem was that with nothing to distract her, Jack's thoughts inevitably wandered back to those datapads Shepard had given her. Their contents were convoluted and vague, a bunch of dry reports and banks of meaningless numbers, a lot of talk of unsuccessful tests, money concerns and subject acquisition. Thinking about it made a hot rage curdle in Jack's gut. It didn't make any damn sense. The worst part was that the facility, Pragia, was listed as shut down, abandoned. Sure, she'd wrecked the place when she'd escaped, but she'd always dreamed of going back to exact some sweet revenge. Now, there was no one left to _hurt_.

Jack growled and kicked another stray piece of ship. The thoughts _itched_, crawling along her limbs under the many scrawled tattoos. The marks that one by one obscured more and more of the medical tracery the doctors had used to use. Some medical shit- isotopes? Showed up nice and clear when they put her in the medical scanner to trace node development or whatever.

"Find something?" Shepard asked.

The biotic convict glanced over to see the commander walk over to Garrus, who had picked up a section of metal sheet.

Shepard stopped beside him. "What is it?"

He was intent on the metal, turning it over in his hands, glowing omni-tool interface lit. "I'm not sure. I think it's armor of some kind, but the composition is really strange."

"Kill me now," Jack muttered with a profound sigh. The wind was picking up, stirring whirlwinds of loose sand. She ambled away along the trail of debris, absently looking for anything interesting. Maybe someone had dropped a credit chit somewhere, or a nice weapon.

"What was that?"

The convict looked back again. Lawson was squinting down the valley of scattered debris. Jack followed her gaze. Outlined against the red rock, white humanoid shapes were moving along the cliff edges. The dusty air obscured their features, but the red-lit faceplates were unmistakable.

"Here I was, wondering where all the LOKI units got to," Lawson said, reaching for her pistol.

The turian tucked the metal sheet under his arm and pulled his sniper rifle off his back. "It wouldn't be a _Normandy_ expedition if someone didn't try shooting at us."

"They may not be hostile," the commander mused.

Garrus clucked his tongue. "Shepard, when has that _ever_ been the case?"

"True. Find some cover, people, these things may be slow but they're good shots."

Jack smirked under her mask and pulled the shotgun off the clip on her back. It was just a bunch of robots, but it was better than nothing. She sucked in a breath, and dark energy flowed in around her, coursing over her limbs.

It took only a moment more for the turian's suspicion to be confirmed. Jack could hear the singsong voice of the LOKI units calling out for a peaceful surrender even as the mechs opened fire on their position. A blue field swirled into being around three of the LOKI units. Jack felt the pulse coming from her right, the answering heave in the planet's heavy gravity field. The Cerberus princess threw dark energy like she did everything else- smooth, controlled, with perfect form. She'd probably been trained in a class with an asari or something, all pretty moves. No drugs, no shocks, no pit fights.

The LOKIs lifted into the air, their limbs flailing. There was a loud crack from behind Lawson, and one of the robots' heads popped off. The turian let out a little whoop as he fired another shot, relieving another floating mech of its leg.

"Better than the range!" he said in a jovial tone, over the click and ping of his heat clip ejecting.

Shepard had found some cover behind an outcropping of rock, and was methodically gunning down mechs with her shotgun. Jack could feel the heat simmering behind her eyes, under her skin. She imagined that the rows of automatons were Blue Suns guards, and threw out a hand, feeling the raw power surge along her arm. Two LOKI units lurched sideways, smashing into the the outcropping of rock with a satisfying crunch, though a poor substitute for hearing Kuril shriek for mercy. Her shotgun dispatched the LOKIs still twitching by the rocks. Sometimes the damn things would keep crawling, despite missing some limbs.

"I still can't believe these mechs are what they brought in to replace soldiers!" Shepard said from her cover. Her shotgun blasted two more off their feet.

"A stopgap measure," Lawson replied. "The talk of a draft from Alliance worlds never got anywhere." She leaned out of her hiding place to fire off several precise shots, blowing out knees and shoulders down the line of mechs.

"Shepard, we got incoming from the left!"

Jack turned and saw the turian pointing. Down the ridge of rock behind them, another group of mechs was rounding the corner with that measured, plodding gait.

"How many of these things were in the crates, again?" Garrus called out.

"A hundred?" Shepard shouted back.

"As much fun as this is, Commander, I think we're going to have ammunition issues..."

"I want my manual sinks back." The commander gave an irritable toss of her helmeted head. "I wake up one morning and everything needs a damn _clip_."

"The geth heat sink technology was a considerable leap forward in weapon technology, Shepard," the Cerberus cheerleader said. "Critical overload delays got soldiers killed."

"Managing your heat buildup was a _skill_, Lawson, no less so than keeping your barrel aligned. We just traded one problem for another. All right, we're getting to the shuttle. There's nothing more we can do here." She raised her voice. "Garrus, shut down that distress transmitter!"

"On it!"

"We'll go up that side," Shepard said, pointing. "Jack, keep them off our backs! Move out!"

"Yeah, great," Jack muttered.

The turian tossed a grenade back behind them, which tumbled through the air before disappearing behind the outcrop of rocks near the metal cylinder that was the beacon transmitter. A moment later, a crack of detonation echoed down the valley, shattering the beacon in a shock of dust and white lightning. Palming her shotgun in her left hand, Jack pulled her heavy pistol off her hip and started firing at the advancing drones behind them.

The steadily increasing wind that swirled around them was the only warning they got. The sandstorm burst over the rocky sides of the canyon in a slithering, hissing cascade, spilling into the valley floor like a cresting wave and spreading upward to block the meager sunlight.

A buffeting tremor swept around Jack in a blinding wash of dust. She swore, holstering her pistol and pawing at her belt for the goggles tucked away there. Gunfire continued to chatter around her, the LOKIs apparently unperturbed by the sudden turn in the weather. Jack crouched behind a rocky outcrop and, eyes closed against the sand stinging her shaven scalp, yanked her goggles over her head. She tried to blink away the remaining grit, then gathered herself and bolted from cover, ready to blast the first sign of red lights.

The world had become a red-tinted soup of hissing noise. Impacts slammed into Jack's barrier, staggering her. She snarled, firing back into the blowing sand and rolling into new cover. Mechanical voices rang out, calling for her to come out in the politest of tones.

"Come out and die, is that it?" Jack shouted back.

"Please put down your weapons and lie down-" the voice continued.

"Like hell!" Jack was used to tight spaces, but the stinging sand was beyond disorienting.

"Jack! Status?" As if the sand wasn't enough, now Shepard was barking in her ear through the comm unit.

"Finally having some fun!" she snapped back.

She jumped out of cover and threw a biotic surge out toward the synthetic voices, and was rewarded by the shriek of metal joints shattering. More red eyes leered in the fog, but they just became targets. Jack blasted away at them until her heat clip hissed, then dodged back into cover.

"Get to the shuttle, Jack!" Shepard ordered.

"Yeah, yeah," Jack muttered into the howling wind. Her spent heat clip snapped out of the cowling, bouncing off the rock to disappear into the fog.

The sand tore at her exposed skin, pattering against her goggles and mask. Gritting her teeth, she peered around, trying to make some sense out of the shapes looming around her. She had no idea where the shuttle was. Gunfire chattered all around her, the mechs' pistols against the rhythmic boom of Shepard's shotgun and the throatier bark of the turian's three-round bursts. The sounds bounced off the rocks in distorted echoes.

A whirring click sounded somewhere beside her. A stab of renewed adrenaline surged- she knew that sound. She took two steps and flung herself sideways, feeling the rush of heat wash over her face as a rocket roared past. An answering boom shattered a rock face somewhere behind, showering her with rock chips.

"Son of a bitch!" she growled, jumping to her feet.

The whine of the YMIR's heavy machine cannon spinning up gave her only a second to lunge away before it roared to life, filling the air with the whir of metal slugs traveling at hypersonic speeds. One of them clipped her shoulder. Even through her barrier, the impact was enough to punch her off her feet, sending her sprawling. She slammed painfully into something hard, sending the shotgun spiraling out of her hand. In a moment of raw instinct, she scrambled around the crate and huddled into its meager cover. The ground shuddered with the impact of heavy steps as the gravcar-sized mech thumped toward her, its gun chewing into her cover with a metallic shriek. The crate vibrated violently against her back.

There _was_ help out there, on the other end of the comm bud in her ear. Jack bit her lip hard.

"Like hell I'm pussying out in front of _Shepard_!" she hissed into her breath mask, clenching her fists. Her nerves sang in answer, blue fire racing across her limbs. "Come closer, fatty, out where I can see you..."

The machine gun clicked off, signaling the beginning of the mech's reload sequence- a bare few seconds while the mechanism switched its heat clip and fed a new ammo slug into the chamber. Jack sucked in a breath and jumped up, whirling around.

The YMIR loomed in the soupy atmosphere. As the cowling on its left arm snapped open, dark energy was already surging along Jack's body. A concentrated gravitic shear slammed into the mech's body, staggering it back and twisting its boxy torso around. There was a roar and a hiss as the missile it was preparing to fire spiraled up and vanished into the sky. Jack drew another surge, hurling it at the YMIR. A few plates of armor twisted and tore away, and sparks shot out of its shoulder joint. The YMIR seemed to tense, shuddering and drawing in on itself. Jack was winding up for another hit when a bright blue pulse bloomed out of it, hitting her in the chest and flinging her to the ground. She gasped, the air punched out of her lungs by the impact.

The whine of the machine cannon starting back up galvanized her into a desperate roll as the sandy floor of the valley where she'd been only a moment before exploded. Her throat raw from biotic exertion, Jack was scrambling for cover, any cover, when a familiar boom rang out.

The mech staggered, its right arm flailing out as if to try to steady itself. From behind, Shepard's armored shadow advanced, firing her shotgun into its left leg two, three more times, each shot tearing into the unprotected back of the knee joint. The YMIR made an effort to swing its body around to face its new attacker, but the mangled joint wouldn't cooperate and it teetered precariously.

Grinning under her mask, Jack rolled and yanked her pistol off her hip. The heavy pistol made a satisfying crack each time it hit the YMIR's unprotected sensor array, making the red targeting sensors flicker. Behind the mech, Shepard took a couple of steps and then flung out her arm, and Jack felt the massive surge just before a storm of rippling blue slammed the mech off its feet and sent it crashing into the rocks off to Jack's left. The YMIR collapsed in a heap, a high-pitch whine emanating from its twisted body.

Shepard jogged forward, grabbed a fistful of Jack's jacket and hauled her to her feet, dragging the convict around to place Shepard's armored body between Jack and the mech. A second later, the mech's suicide charge detonated. The commander's kinetic barrier flashed as a few pieces of flaming metal skipped off it.

"Shuttle!" the commander snapped, pushing Jack forward.

"My shotgun-"

"_Now_!"

The commander whirled around and sprayed the space to their right with her SMG, and Jack heard the ping and crack of the rounds hitting metal. Shepard moved, and Jack felt the flow of dark energy shift and surge, pulling in around the commander. The protective barrier rippled with scattered impacts as the LOKIs returned fire. Spraying more gunfire in the mechs' direction, Shepard herded Jack along through the debris at a brisk trot.

Jack liked to think that she was the strongest human biotic out there. Made sense, as none of the challengers she'd ever faced had been anything but laughable. Shepard was another matter, though. Jack inevitably assumed that all the blather about heroism had been a lot of bullshit Alliance self-congratulation, but as Jack squinted into the sandstorm, snapping shots in the direction of any movement she could catch, she was forced to admit that this hotshot former Spectre might actually have the chops. The revelation was simultaneously exciting and infuriating.

The sloping profile of the Kodiak shuttle appeared out of nowhere. Its door was open, and Jack could make out the shapes of Lawson and the turian crouched beside it, firing into the storm. They wasted no more time. Jack vaulted into the Kodiak, followed swiftly by the other three. As the door began to close, Shepard pounded on the door to the pilot's cockpit. Jack felt the shuttle's eezo core pulse, mitigating the shuttle's mass as the thrusters fired. Shots pinged off the door as the locks and seals engaged and they leapt into the air. The four occupants of the crew cabin seemed to collect themselves for a minute, until the red light above them signifying unsafe atmosphere clicked off. Jack yanked off her goggles and mask with considerable relief, swiping leftover sand out of the stubble on her scalp.

"Missed your chance to ditch me, Princess," she said, fixing Lawson with a mocking grin.

"No one stays behind," Shepard said.

Jack snorted. "Teach you that one in milschool?"

"Yes." Shepard's steady look betrayed no sarcasm.

The convict shifted and looked away. "Well, someone owes me a new shotgun."

"Plenty more where that one came from at the armory."

Jack smirked. Of course they'd have a full fabricator unit on that fancy ship of theirs.

"Sweet deal," she said. "And maybe while I'm up there I'll check out the view. Think Mister Armory would be up for a bit of fun? He's got quite the ass packed into that suit of his."

Lawson rolled her eyes.

"What's the matter, Princess, I hit a nerve?"

The Cerberus cheerleader pulled the breath mask off her face and smoothed her hair back. "Hardly. Jacob is a big boy, if he wants to rub up to a cactus, it's his business. As long as he doesn't come whining to me when he gets a faceful of needles." She fixed Jack with an unruffled stare.

"Nice." Jack smirked and planted a booted foot on the seat opposite hers, deliberately close to Lawson.

"I was right!"

She glanced back from her challenge to see the turian flipping through panes on his omni-tool.

"What is it, Garrus?" Shepard asked.

The turian's helmeted head cocked. "I'm looking at the data we picked up from the pads down there. I've seen this designation before. These are shipping manifests for the delivery of the mechs that were on this ship. They give us the source and destination of the shipments. Look at the serial numbers of the mechs, they're Hahne-Kedar numbers. See that prefix? I think it designates the manufacturing location of each mech. But I'd seen that exact string before- it was on the schematics given to us by Admiral Hackett for the Luna facility!"

Jack saw Shepard's eyes narrow under her visor.

"So the mechs here came from the same facility that supplied the Luna training simulator," she said.

"That's right." Garrus tapped his omni-tool. "These numbers suggest that the training drones were assembled at the same plant as the mechs that were on this ship, but more importantly, the VI that controlled them all came from there as well."

"Did the the Luna VI escape somehow?"

He shook his head. "I don't know, everything we saw on Luna suggested that the facility was isolated. But if all of the software and hardware comes from the same source, it's possible that the fault is actually resident in their core VI, and is being passed on to their mechs and VI control systems like a virus."

"HK ships their mechs all over Citadel space and beyond," Lawson cut in. "If a central VI is corrupt, even at only one of their facilities, why wouldn't we be seeing more evidence of mechs going haywire?"

"Maybe they tried to correct the fault after the Luna incident," Garrus suggested, "and it only just now resurfaced."

Jack sniffed. "Or maybe it caught a clue and went into hiding 'till the heat died down."

Lawson crossed her legs. The woman could look prim and perfect in the middle of a hurricane. "Aren't we assuming a bit much for a VI?"

Garrus pulled his helmet off, shaking stray sand off onto the floor. He fixed Jack with a penetrating look. "Are we? That's an interesting notion. Self-preservation _is _part of any VI's systems."

"Whatever." Jack shrugged. "Any idiot knows you lie low when someone's looking for you. Basic."

"You seem to have a knack for finding these little problems, Commander," Lawson commented. "I read the report on the Luna incident- three simulators worth of VI drones, barriers, poison gas..."

Shepard shrugged. "A piece of gambling software tried to kill me once, on the Citadel no less. Was that in your reports anywhere?"

Jack smirked to herself. The cheerleader clearly wasn't used to someone who talked back so easily. There was something gratifying about the flicker of tension in the air, brief though it was.

"They missed that one," Lawson said with a raised eyebrow.

"I lead a charmed life." Shepard glanced away. "Garrus, did you drag that piece of metal all the way back to the shuttle?"

The turian's scarred mandibles flared a little. "What? There's a hole in my armor that needs fixing, and it's not every day that you find someone's expensive prototype just lying around." He shifted the metal sheet further under the seat.

"It wasn't doing the mechs any good, I suppose," Shepard said with a wry smile.

Jack folded her arms and leaned back into the shuttle's seat. Idly, she wondered how long she would end up stuck with this lot. It didn't matter, in the end. They gave her weapons and an amp- she could always leave when she wanted to.


	8. Tank Bred

"Grunt," the krogan muttered, pacing in a small circle, "my name is Grunt."

Images flashed through his head, pictures of ships and humans. He could feel the images crowding him every time he looked at something, sifting through them to try to find meaning. Okeer's voice rumbled in his mind, droning on about everything, exhorting him to... to what? It was maddening. The images were meaningless. Sick of the tiny room, infuriated by the nameless itch goading his hands, Grunt made for the door.

It cycled open on smooth runners. Grunt felt a flutter of mild surprise as he stepped across the threshold. Shepard hadn't locked him in. A female human warlord, odd as that sounded to his ears. It wasn't Okeer, the voice of the Tank, that had greeted him when it had finally been drained, but this human. She wore the scars of battle, wielded a weapon with ease, and promised worthy enemies. The first things to make any true sense.

The hallway beyond the door was faced on one side with broad windows overlooking the same cargo bay he could see from the room the Tank was in. There was a door on the opposite end of the hall, and another set in the middle, wide and beamed. Grunt approached the middle one. The doors opened to an elevator that looked large enough to carry cargo, though not a vehicle. Their drops ships, then, must have been limited to the cargo area. Grunt stepped in and examined the small display set against the back wall. It listed five decks. Deciding he would start at the top, he touched the icon.

A glowing blue ball popped into existence to his left. "If I may be of assistance," the ball said, "Deck One consists of Commander Shepard's private quarters and is off-limits to unauthorized personnel."

Grunt peered at the curious pixellated shape. "Are you the ship's mind?"

"I am a full artificial intelligence, created by Cerberus to operate the electronics warfare suite of the _Normandy_. I also carry out the tasks normally associated with a virtual intelligence. I am called EDI."

"Ee-dee." The krogan cocked his head. "Why don't you look like a human? The Tank says humans prefer talking things to look like they do."

"I am unable to speculate on the decisions of my creators. However, this shape uses ninety percent fewer memory resources than a full-body humanoid projection, as well as generating seventy percent less waste heat."

The Tank had not concerned itself a great deal with artificial intelligence. There were images in his head of spindly beings with sloped heads and single, backlit eyes. They were shooting... then a curtain came down in front of them and they disappeared. Were they unworthy foes, then?

The little blue ball could hardly be called a foe. "What is on the other decks?" he asked.

"Deck two is the command deck- it houses the Combat Information Center, the laboratory, the armory-"

"Armory!" Grunt brightened. "Take me there."

The blue ball vanished, and the doors behind him cycled closed. Grunt listened to the hum of the mechanisms behind the walls as the car began to rise- they were quiet and new-sounding, barely above the pervasive hum of the rest of the ship.

He stepped out of the elevator into a wide space dominated by a large holo-projection of the galaxy. The center podium and the profusion of computer terminals along the walls identified it as the command section of the ship. Two humans standing close to the elevator turned as he came through, and he recognized the scars on the dark-skinned one's face- Shepard.

"Grunt," Shepard said with a nod, "welcome to the bridge."

He peered around the open space. "The Tank imprint says that this is a turian command layout. The warlord kept back and above subordinates, instead of among them."

"The original _Normandy_ was co-designed by humans and turians," the commander replied. "So you'll find elements of both design philosophies aboard."

The Tank said nothing of humans and turians building warships together. How much did Okeer leave out? "The ship... Ee-dee said the armory was on this deck."

Shepard raised an arm and pointed to his left. "That door will take you there."

Grunt nodded to Shepard and followed her direction through a door, a short hallway that branched away to the left and another door. A wide, well-lit room opened before him. The walls were lined with racks and computer equipment, and there were several tables and work benches spaced throughout. Grunt immediately recognized the guns and gun parts laid out, and itched to touch them. There were two aliens standing together in the room, talking over a sheet of metal on the table. Both turned to Grunt as he entered.

The male human had dark skin and a suit of armored fatigues, emblazoned with the same horned orange logo that many of the other humans wore, though conspicuously not Shepard herself. The turian wore armor, of course, but it was scorched and scarred and there was a hole in the collar. His face was scarred as well.

Tank imprints flashed through Grunt's head. Turian- weak at the waist and wrist, heart low and left, vulnerable to poisoning from conventional food. Strong spine, military training, good shots and good discipline, quicker than krogan but slower than asari. The best were worthy foes.

"Grunt," the human greeted him. "Shepard said we might see you soon. I'm Jacob Taylor, the armory officer. This is Garrus Vakarian."

Grunt pointed to the turian's battered face. "Did you get that scar in battle?"

"Yes. A batarian in a gunship hit me with a missile."

The krogan nodded. There were many imprints of warriors surviving terrible wounds- Okeer wanted Grunt to respect that. "Did you destroy him for it?"

"Shepard did, blew up the gunship."

"You didn't do it yourself?"

"He'd just finished dealing with about a hundred mercs, their mechs, and their leaders," Jacob said. "I think we can let one batarian slide."

"Hm. A good battle then," Grunt rumbled, low in his chest. "And a good scar to show for it. I have none yet, but I'll earn them soon. I'm here for weapons."

He reached for the assault rifle sitting on the table, but Garrus' hand came down on it in a sharp movement.

The turian's gray eyes glittered as he pulled back a few centimeters. "Not this one."

Grunt growled softly, feeling the heat of challenge under his plates. He heard the human move, and a few seconds later, a rifle presented itself in front of him. The krogan broke Garrus' steady gaze and took it eagerly.

"Elanus Risk Control assault rifle." Grunt squinted. "Vindicator M-15? Yes. Three shot bursts, very accurate and good stopping power. This will do for enemies at range, but weak in close quarters."

"I might have just the thing," Jacob said. He turned and walked over to a weapon cabinet set into the wall. A few commands to his omni-tool opened it, and he withdrew a shotgun and tossed it to Grunt. "Shepard likes this one."

Grunt caught the gun and hefted it, feeling its weight, then frowned. "There were no imprints on this gun." Not knowing irked him. He was supposed to know every weapon.

"Lieberschaft 2180," Jacob said. "Lovingly called the 'Eviscerator' by the mercs. It's not military- the ammo and charge shape mechanism violates certain weapon treaties." He handed Grunt an oddly-shaped, striated ammo slug.

"You don't honor your treaties?"

"The Alliance military might, but Cerberus does what needs to be done to _win_. The Reapers don't give a rat's ass about our treaties."

Grunt chuckled in agreement. "Words are not weapons."

He slung the assault rifle over his shoulder, and felt it click into the gun mount on the back of his armor. He then slid the ammo slug into the shotgun's magazine, took a heat clip from a stack on the table and fed it into the side of the gun. The Tank's imprints on heat clips were recent, hurried- an image of the one-eyed robots again, focusing on their guns. He cocked the gun to engage the ammo slug, flipped off the safety, chose an empty section of wall, and pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened.

"Your 'Eviscerator' doesn't eviscerate very well," he rumbled, turning to Jacob.

Before the human could answer, the blue ball popped into being beside the weapon locker. "All weapons on board are equipped with software-based governors. Only senior officers are authorized to use firearms on board, unless the order is given for the governors to be removed, such as in the case of a boarding attack."

"How do I know this will work when we fight?" Grunt asked.

Jacob folded his arms. "I'm the armory officer for this mission, Grunt. If the guns didn't work, I wouldn't be doing my job."

"And Shepard would have you killed for incompetence?"

The turian made a small noise that might have been a laugh, but the human just shrugged. "Well, I hope not, but if the guns don't work then I sure as hell deserve to get gunned down in the field. But there's not shortage of weapons. What you need, we'll provide."

"Do you have a fabricator here?"

Jacob nodded. "Yes."

Grunt drifted for a moment, feeling through the imprint images. There were so many images of krogan warriors, and all of them were armed. There was one gun, one shotgun in particular, that he'd come to covet.

"Ee-dee?" Grunt looked around to the terminal by the gun case. "Where are you?"

The blue ball reappeared. "How may I be of assistance?"

He walked over to the AI. "There are many imprints in my Tank, many images but also images of weapons. Can you see them?"

"There is a considerable repository of data stored in your cloning tank. Two hundred and fifty-four unique weapons are listed. Can you specify your request?"

"A shotgun. As long as an adult male varren's head, grip far back, muzzle diameter... the width of my thumb. Heavier than a newborn krogan."

"Five weapons fit your approximate measurements." The blue ball vanished, replaced by floating projections of five different shotguns.

Grunt recognized the one he wanted immediately. "That one! Can you make it?"

"EDI, does the imprint contain fabrication specs?" Jacob asked.

"Affirmative." The four other weapons disappeared and the one remaining shotgun swelled to actual size. "I am downloading the data now. However, this design is protected by FRM, and requires raw materials we do not currently have on board."

Grunt had to resist the urge to reach out to the tantalizing holographic image. "What does that mean?"

Jacob shook his head. "It means that one part is left out of the fabrication specs. It'll need to be bought separately, and it'll be expensive."

The krogan growled in irritation.

"But," the human went on, "Shepard will probably be able to find it for you. If she can scare up Serrice Ice Brandy on _Omega_, I'm sure we can get this gun made for you."

The image of the gun vanished, just as the door behind Grunt opened. He turned to see a female human come through, dressed in the same black and white uniform most of them were wearing. Grunt tried to place her, but he had trouble telling humans apart, as most of them lacked distinguishing scars or coloring. No humps or proper plates, either. All he was sure of was that it wasn't Shepard.

"Hello Grunt," she said. He noted that she didn't show her teeth. She wasn't challenging him. "It's good to see you up and about. How are you settling in?"

"I have weapons now, even if they don't work in here. I'm ready to fight." He cocked his head. "Who are you?"

"I'm Yeoman Kelly Chambers."

"Yo-man? That's a strange name."

"Um, no that's my rank. Kelly is my name, Chambers is my... clan name."

"You have many females on this ship," Grunt observed, turning to Jacob. "Are they warriors, or for breeding? Because this one is awfully scrawny."

"I am _not_-" Kelly flared, then drew herself to her full inconsiderable height. "I was hand-picked by the Illusive Man to serve as a member of Shepard's crew!"

"Illusive Man. Is he a great warrior?"

This time the turian did laugh. "No, he sits behind a desk. Shepard is the one who fights."

"Then why serve him?"

"He's the reason we're all here!" the yo-man said. "I may not be a warrior, but I handle a lot of duties on this ship, including when _you_ get to eat!"

Grunt blinked. Was it hunger that he was feeling? "Where is there food?"

'Kelly' smiled at him, with perhaps a note of triumph in her expression. "Come with me, we'll find you some dinner."

She turned and walked back out the door. Grunt settled the shotgun on his back and followed her back to the elevator. They rode down one floor and emerged into a hallway that wrapped around into another wide room ringed with sloping bulkheads. Grunt recognized the area as a mess hall. Images of warriors sitting together sharing a kill flashed through his mind. But this place held only a handful of humans, all of which were staring at him. The krogan crossed the room after the yo-man, who stopped in front of a counter by the side wall.

"This is Mess Sergeant Rupert Gardner." Kelly indicated the man behind the counter.

"Which is a fancy way of saying the guy who does all the dirty jobs," the man said with a smirk. "Grunt, huh? Let me guess, meat?"

On the counter in front of him, there was a pair of trays laid out with plates heaped with some kind of food. Curious smells were drifting across his scent glands.

"Is that meat?" Grunt asked, pointing at the brown lumps.

"Yeah, chicken-"

Grunt reached out and picked up one of the pieces of meat and popped in his mouth. Rupert made some kind of vocal protest, but Grunt ignored him. While the Tank had shown him images of food, the krogan was not prepared for the actual experience of flavor. He crushed the meat and bones with his broad teeth, filling the scent glands in the roof of his mouth with an overwhelming burst of intense sensation.

Through the haze, he realized that the male human was waving his arms in consternation. Grunt didn't care. Hardly finished with the first piece, he reached for the second one, but Kelly's hands closed on his bracer and steered him away.

He growled at the yo-man. "I want more," he said around his mouthful.

"Yes... well, these meals are hardly fit for a warrior like you, are they?" Kelly said. "Give Rupert some time to prepare something more _worthy_. Why don't you go back to your, ah, quarters, and we'll have a good meal for you soon."

Grunt considered killing her and Rupert and taking the food- they were both unarmed, easy kills. As he chewed, he regarded the chunk of meat on the other plate. It _was_ rather small... and Shepard might punish him for killing her servants, might not let him fight. Then he would have to kill her too.

He swallowed the meal in his mouth. "Fine, I'll wait."

With a certain amount of annoyance, he allowed himself to be led back to the elevator. A few minutes later he was back in his room with his tank, absently licking the flavor off his greasy glove. He paced. The weight of the weapons on his back was comforting, but still the unknown feelings crawled in his head.

"I think I hate waiting," he said to the empty room.

Grunt had no idea how much time passed until the door opened, only that it was far too long. The female, Kelly, appeared bearing a tray heaped with steaming things. Heady smells flooded the small cargo hold. Perhaps wisely, the human put the tray down and retreated. She said something too, but Grunt was too focused on the food. He lost himself happily in the rush of sensations, the crunch of bone and the tearing of flesh.

The door opened, snapping him back to the now. Grunt looked up sharply and moved to protect his meat. A strange-looking human came through the door, with no head-fuzz and dark orange pants. It took a moment for Grunt to realize that it wasn't wearing any kind of shirt or armor, instead its bare skin was painted in a riot of patterns.

"Hey," the human said. Grunt realized with surprise it was a female.

"What do you want?" he asked, eyes narrow with suspicion.

The painted female leaned against the shelving units and folded her arms. "Cool it, I'm not here for your food. I heard they flushed you out of that tube finally, so I just had to come see the 'perfect krogan' for myself. I come from a lab too, after all. Name's Jack."

"Jack." Grunt tested the word, noting the lack of clan name. "You were tank-bred too?"

"Might as well have been."

"Are you a yo-man?"

The human squinted at him. "A what now?"

"There was another female, she said she held the rank of yo-man. Is that a rank for clanswomen?"

Jack laughed, loud and sharp. "Holy shit, I am _not_ one of those Cerberus yuppies."

"Then what are you?"

She raised a closed fist. "Just like you, krogan. I was bred to_ fight_."

Grunt looked her up and down, dubious. "You're very small."

Jack snorted and gestured with her hand. A flare of bright blue energy flashed across her body, and a crate that had been sitting against the wall flew across the room and smashed against the back wall. "I can still throw _you_ across the room any day of the week, Lumpy."

Imprint images flashed again. Human biotics were supposed to be weak, but that display had seemed anything but weak. The imprints of biotic krogan were few, but something to watch. What was he supposed to feel about them? Grunt wondered why Okeer hadn't made _him_ a biotic, they seemed powerful and feared.

She leaned forward with a predatory smile. "And get this, we get to fight _Collectors_ soon. I overheard Lawson when I went to the can. We're eight hours away from some colony dump that they're supposed to attack, and we're gonna hit'em there."

Grunt frowned. There were no imprints of 'Collectors'. "Shepard spoke of enemies that threaten galaxies. Are they the 'Collectors'?"

"Hell if_ I _know, I always thought they were a myth. But they've been wiping out whole colonies, so they have to be able to put up a good fight, right?"

"I hope so. The Tank said I am perfect, but those are meaningless words until I prove myself."

"Seems like they're lining up to take a shot at Shepard, so you'll get your chance."

Grunt considered his food. His belly was getting full. He wanted to keep all of it for himself, but the imprints also told him that warriors shared the kill among themselves. There were no krogan here to share with, but Grunt was still curious. What did Okeer want him to feel?

He picked up a piece of meat and held it out to Jack.

"What's that?" she sounded dubious.

"Cooked meat. It's good. The man on deck three made it."

Jack hesitated for a moment longer, then shrugged. "Eh, what the hell. I've eaten scarier stuff." She took the proffered piece and tore a bite off.

"Your marks, are they for camouflage?" Grunt pointed at her painted skin.

"Huh?"

"To scatter your silhouette, make you harder to hit when you're moving fast."

Jack blinked, then laughed loud again. "Hell, you know, I never even thought about that? But I guess you're right." She took another bite and chewed, then grinned at him. "Gotta say, you're all right, for a krogan. Better than all these stuff-shirt military assholes, anyway."

She ate in silence for a minute, then stood up and stretched. "Well, I better get some shut-eye before the big scrap. Thanks for grub!" With that, Jack walked out.

Grunt contemplated the leftovers of the meal. He wanted to be hungry so he could eat again.

"First, I'll sleep," he said to the nagging voice of Okeer in his head, "then, fight. It will be good."


	9. Material Evidence

Tarasov was screaming again.

Had Kaidan been asleep, _really_ asleep for once, it might have irked him more than it did. As it was, he was floating somewhere in a nebulous haze, hoping for sleep to happen when Tarasov started up. Kaidan sighed at the grey-beamed ceiling of his tiny room and rolled out from under the covers. No light filtered in through the closed shutters, only a glimmer coming from a small, softly glowing panel near the door. He stepped over the pile of armor on the floor and touched the panel, and the door slipped sideways with a grudging hiss.

Odell was in the hall. He turned as Kaidan emerged, blinking bleary-eyed in the dim light of the corridor. The hab-unit was cramped and spartan, but no moreso than the ships he and his squad were used to. Though, the sound deadening between rooms was quite a bit worse. Wickham was nowhere to be seen, probably in her room with a pillow crammed over her head, something Kaidan would much rather have been doing right now.

He gave a wordless toss of his head to urge Odell back into his room. The chief shrugged, listless irritation crossing his face. The first night after the attack, there had been some pretense of pulling together. But these restless nights later, after everything that had happened, nerves were wearing thin. The weary commander bumped the heel of his fist into Tarasov's door panel, spilling a bit of light into the dark room beyond.

"Tarasov!" Kaidan barked from the doorway. Four nights of this and an elbow to the jaw had taught him that the quiet approach didn't do any good. The corporal was lean, but strong and fast, and even his uncoordinated thrashing left painful bruises.

"You're dreaming again, Tarasov," Kaidan continued, edging into the room. "Wake up."

The private's thrashing subsided. He was a mess, his covers strewn on the floor, sheets pulled off the mattress and bunched up against the wall. The hall light shone off his sweat-soaked face. Kaidan didn't dare touch him- it only made things worse. He continued to repeat himself until Tarasov's eyes flew open and fixed on him, round and bright in the dark.

Kaidan waited, letting reality settle back in. Four walls, no paralyzing bugs, no monsters coming to take them away.

"It... it won't stop," Tarasov said with a choked sob. His eyes were bruised and sunken with fatigue.

"We'll be out of here soon." Kaidan moved closer and placed a hand on his marine's shaking shoulder. "Just..." What time was it, anyway? He had no idea. "Just a few more hours and our ride will be here."

Which was a good thing, because their transport was a smoking ruin on the landing pad east of the colony center. As they'd taken off, their attackers had directed their main engines straight at the landing bays, blasting everything to slag.

Tarasov mumbled something that got lost in his own throat, massaging his eyes with the heels of his hands. Aside from the reassurance that they'd soon be away from the colony, Kaidan was at something of a loss for what to say. It wasn't that Kaidan didn't sympathize- he did, and far too much, but there was only so many times he could repeat that it wasn't anyone's fault. At least, this time, he could say so with perfect earnestness. How could they possibly have prepared for such an attack?

Kaidan stepped back out into the hall. Odell was still there, leaning against his door. "We're out soon, right, Commander?" he murmured.

"Sixteen hundred, give or take." Kaidan touched his door panel.

"Okay. I'll... keep an eye on Tarasov." The chief raised his voice. "Hey 'sov, I'm making coffee!"

"Make a _lot_," came the ragged answer.

Odell turned and stumped down the hall toward the kitchen.

Back in his own room, Kaidan located his pants and pulled them on over his boxers. He couldn't wait to do laundry and get the pervasive smell of the damp of this place off him. He walked back out and went down the hall to the front door of the hab unit. The door cycled open at a press, admitting a rush of Horizon's thick, humid air. A short balcony led to a set of stairs, the top of which was occupied by Corporal Stenham, sitting against the railing in his slate-gray armor, elbow resting on his helmet. The corporal lurched when the door opened, and made to scramble to his feet.

"At ease," Kaidan said with a wave of his hand.

Stenham settled back, the expression on his rugged face suggesting that of a kid caught snoozing in class. He was supposed to be on guard, but Kaidan wasn't in any kind of mood to chastise him for sitting down on the job. Instead, Kaidan came forward and settled himself on the wide top step next to his fellow marine. It was morning, or at least the time before morning when the sun was still below the horizon, it's encroaching light filling the sky with a shadowless ambiance that lent an eerie cast to the buildings around them. The only sounds were the distant buzzing of the world's large, omni-present insect life.

"Happened again, huh?" Stenham said.

Kaidan nodded, scrubbing a hand through his hair. The cool outside air was helping to clear his head, at least a little. "No noise from the natives?" he asked after a minute.

"No sir, all quiet." Stenham quirked a humorless smile. "No rocks tonight."

"They're probably all trying to figure out what to do," Kaidan said.

Half the colony, gone. Taken by the so-called Collectors. Kaidan knew nothing of them aside from the name and their sinister, if distant, reputation, but now he could say he'd had a front-row seat to a full-scale attack. Just thinking about it made his mouth go dry and his stomach knot. Never had he experienced helplessness on such a scale- unable, in every conceivable sense, to do a single thing but watch the horror unfold. Watch the Collectors lay each colonist in their chitinous pods, watch them come inexorably closer to him. Arrogant, unhurried, no more concerned about Kaidan's raised weapon as they would be a rock. Closer and closer until suddenly, they turned as one, as if in alarm... and flew away.

"Screw 'em," Stenham said.

Any other time, Kaidan would have stopped Stenham right there. He had done so several times on this mission when the hot-headed corporal's frustrations got the better of him. This time though, he stayed quiet.

"I mean seriously, fuck them to hell and back," Stenham went on, emboldened by Kaidan's silence. "Self-righteous freecol pricks whining about how we're coming to spy on them or take them over or some shit, _as if_ we had the goddamn manpower to stake out some ass-backwards Terminus colony! Meanwhile, _their_ bullshit sabotage keeps us from getting those guns online on time, then they bitch about the fact that _oh, half the colony got snatched _by those goddamn bugs and now it's somehow _our_ fucking fault! Because if we hadn't been here, what, the _whole_ colony would be gone? What, not enough people left to yell and throw rocks?"

Kaidan let the rant wash over him. In the privacy of his head, he could allow himself to agree with it, let his subordinate give voice to the unprofessional feelings he'd been harboring for days now. The sabotage had been by far the hardest thing to deal with. He'd wanted so badly to throttle the snide colonial council rep who didn't seem to care a whit for the damage done to irreplaceable equipment by paranoid colonists. So far away from Alliance space, they had limited resources and no backup.

Stenham smacked his palm onto his thigh with a crack. "I know that ain't terribly neighborly of me, sir, but fuck 'em. We did every damn thing we could, and we lost Walker and Inoue for it. I can't wait to get off this rock."

"You and me both," Kaidan murmured.

The windows of the other hab-units stared back at him. Silent and dark, they'd been abandoned by their inhabitants. The piecemeal families had huddled together on the western side of the colony. Hardly a single family had escaped unbroken.

"Sir, I gotta ask," Stenham said, "is this all what you and Shepard were fighting?"

_Shepard._

Kaidan's nerves quivered. He was overly aware of the ruthless game of mental triage that his brain was engaged in. There were certain things he had to deal with right here, right now, and the rest had been locked down with every iota of willpower he could summon up. So far, it had kept him from coming apart at the seams. But he wanted to be away from this colony just as badly as his team, and not just because of the nightmarish memories of the Collectors and their bugs.

"I don't know."

The corporal grunted. Like the rest of the team, he was doubtless used to Kaidan's deflections about anything to do with his time on the _Normandy_. 'Classified' was a useful excuse, but also a political reality.

"I really don't know," Kaidan said, despite himself. He was sick to death of the evasion, sick of holding it all in. "We never fought the Collectors, if that's what those bugs were. But there's something about it that makes me think it could be related."

"It ain't over, is it?"

The simplicity of the question gave Kaidan pause. Stenham was the kind of person whose mental capacity lurked like an iceberg- the bulk of it out of sight most of time. He was often bull-headed, but also shrewd.

"No," he replied after a moment.

"Shit, I knew it. The only time command clams up this hard is when they don't want to admit to something. We gonna get reassigned, sir?"

"Looking to get rid of me so soon?" Kaidan asked with wan humor.

"No, sir. Just want to know who's got my back if things go sideways."

"We'll see after the debrief, but point taken."

Stenham nodded, half to himself. He picked up the water canteen at his feet and unscrewed the cap, then pulled something out from the other side of his belt compartments. He passed his hand over the open canteen, and there was a muffled sound of something hitting the water.

"Only on special occasions, you understand," Stenham said with a wry smile. He closed the cap and swirled the water around.

Kaidan frowned slightly at the unusual display of trust from a subordinate. Stim use was the kind of thing that could go either way- frowned on officially, but used by practically every groundpounder at some point in their career. In practice, officers only stepped in if things got out of hand. But people being who they were, sometimes it was a convenient charge to get someone punished.

"You a career man, Stenham?"

The question felt odd coming out. Kaidan just wasn't the kind of person who pried into other people's lives unless he felt comfortable with them, which was a rare enough event anyway. More than that, he was overly aware of how he hadn't been allowing himself to get personal with the soldiers on his team. He hated the detachment, hated the conflict of it, hated that it seemed all the more justified since losing Inoue and Walker.

_Did Shepard feel this weird when she asked me this? She never seemed to, but..._ Kaidan clenched his jaw, trying to force the crack closed. _Not now notnownotnow._..

Stenham shrugged. "Guess I am, at that. Somewhere to be, you know?"

"That seems like a grim assessment."

"Nah, it ain't that. I got two brothers in the slam back on Earth. One's doing a dime, the other won't ever see the sun again. Thing is, I'd be right in there with 'em if my Dad hadn't forced my thumb on the reg seal himself."

A number of unpleasant memories of arguments with his father bubbled up through the miasma of Kaidan's roiling thought processes. "Your father... forced you to join up?"

"Best thing that ever happened to me."

Kaidan looked over the empty hab units, letting himself process it. For all the implications, there was a startling lack of bitterness in Stenham's voice. The corporal unscrewed the canteen's cap again and took a long swallow of water. Then he held out the canteen to Kaidan.

"No thanks." Kaidan held up a hand. "I could seriously use it, but that stuff disagrees with my brain."

Stenham ducked his head. "Ah, right." He took another long drink.

"You're happy, then?"

The corporal swiped an armored forearm across his mouth, grating against the thick layer of stubble. "Much as anyone is. I'm not the best at anything, but every year I get a little bit smarter and a little bit better. Like that smelly cheese everyone pays so much for."

"I certainly believe that every time you take your boots off."

The corporal laughed, the sound bouncing around the silent morning air. "Aw hell, well that's the truth. Still, I got a pension. A pension! Something else, that right there."

"Anyone waiting for it?"

Stenham scuffed his boot along the step. "Hah, not yet. But we'll see, right? Hey, what about that doctor of yours?"

Esha. Kaidan hadn't even thought about her in days. She'd insisted he call her by her first name, even though it made him edgy in a strange way. It was perfectly appropriate for a civilian, but his years of military formalities lent uncalled-for intimacy to given names.

Just another disconnect among hundreds, he thought in a bitter moment. "What about her?"

Stenham grinned. "If we're really headed for a big smash-up, get while the getting's good, that's what I say. She seemed real into you. The ladies love a hero."

"I don't feel particularly heroic at the moment."

The corporal dropped his voice to a conspiratorial tone. "They don't gotta know that."

Kaidan just shook his head with a noncommittal smirk. This wasn't a conversation he was going to have with a subordinate, especially not now. He wasn't even sure what he'd talk about anyway. Accepting Esha's invitation for drinks had been as much a calculated test of himself as a real desire to go out, and it had been good in a lot of ways, but nothing felt quite right. At the time, he'd asked himself if he was _letting_ it be right, and hadn't come up with an answer. Still, before he'd left for Arcturus, he'd decided to keep trying.

_Now..._

"Mind holding the fort for a minute, sir?" Stenham asked. "Gotta take a leak."

"Go ahead," Kaidan replied distractedly.

The corporal stood up and stretched, his armor creaking. Then he plodded down the stairs and disappeared between the hab units. After bickering with Odell a few times over the single bathroom, Stenham had taken to answering the simpler calls of nature somewhere out back.

Kaidan scrubbed at his face. A shower and a shave would help dispel the mossy feeling around his eyeballs, and he could set his focus on getting everything ready to leave. Getting Walker and Inoue's stuff together, making sure they weren't leaving anything behind in this unwelcome place.

Things to keep his mind off the obvious.

* * *

_Almost out._

Kaidan trudged up the smooth slope, his marines and their gear in tow. A piece of land left fallow had been designated as a suitable landing zone for inbound dropships, since the formal landing port was still a mess of debris and slag. Kaidan had waited until he spotted the trail of the descending ship before approaching the landing area, if only to keep himself and his marines away from the considerable crowd of colonists that had gathered. Tempers were too raw. Rocks weren't much of a threat to armored soldiers and their kinetic barriers, but Kaidan didn't want to risk the temptation to fire back with much more lethal ordinance.

The shape in the sky coalesced into the fat silhouette of an Orca, a medium-sized Alliance drop-ship, which carved a lazy half-cirlce above them before settling down in a wash of retro-thruster heat and dust. The transport's door opened, and a bevy of grey-armored Alliance marines spilled out. A groan traveled through the assembled crowd. Kaidan was startled to realize he recognized the last marine to exit. If Tennyson was a large man in standard Alliance blues, then in full armor he looked like a Grizzly tank had decided to try out bipedal locomotion for the afternoon.

"What, more_ soldiers_?" someone shouted over the rumble of the Orca's drive powering down.

The rear admiral turned a venomous glare on the colonists. "We'll be collecting materials and our marines and then we'll leave," he said in his booming voice. "Go back to your homes and go about your business!"

"Where are our people?" someone else asked. "Can't you get them back?"

"We're looking into that. In the meantime, look to your own safety."

A young man broke out of the crowd, approaching the nervous-looking marines. "I want to go with you!"

Someone else stepped forward and grabbed the man by the elbow, yanking him back. "Marcus, shut up, you idiot!" he hissed.

A woman pushed past them both. "Me too! I want to leave too!"

The argument degenerated rapidly, voices rising among the crowd. Some shouted at one another, others at the marines, begging for help, for news, anything. Kaidan chided himself in silence. It was fast becoming too easy to 'other' these people, to make them enemies not worth the emotional energy to care about. The urge to protect himself, meet their hate and distrust with hate of his own. But all there really was in those faces was very human fear and loss. Their colony was alone in the hostile Terminus systems, their infrastructure damaged, their population decimated.

He drew a breath to steady himself. The now-functional defense towers would discourage pirates and slavers, and they should have more than enough food to last them until a corporate relief ship showed up. Like so many other things, it was out of his hands. It was up to the colonists themselves to decide their own fate, as they'd decided to do when they left Alliance space.

Rear Admiral Tennyson walked around the crowd, leaving his marines in formation around the transport, rifles ready.

"Admiral!" Kaidan saluted. "I wasn't expecting-"

"Alenko. Walk with me," Tennyson said without breaking stride. "Your marines can start loading onto the transport."

Kaidan nodded to Odell and then turned to fall into step, no easy task with the admiral's brisk pace. Tennyson strode down the short hill to the packed gravel road leading back toward the colony.

"We didn't expect anyone for another day at best, sir," Kaidan said. "Not until the tightbeam last night advising us you'd be arriving now. I didn't think the response would be that fast."

"I received an anonymous coded message regarding the attack around four hours after it occurred. Traceback went all the way to the Iera comm buoy."

Kaidan blinked. It had taken them a day and a half to get a comm tower functional enough to get a signal to the FTL comm buoy. Desperate, unpleasant hours spent dodging the hysterical colonists and staving off hysteria themselves.

"I read your report. Did you leave anything out?" Tennyson's tone was matter-of-fact rather than accusatory. He was someone with a long history of experience with the difference between reality and 'official' versions of it.

"No, sir," Kaidan replied tightly. His stomach was telling him that this conversation wasn't going to be fun, perhaps even less so than writing the report in the first place.

"We've got no tracking data whatsoever on this Collector ship. The chances of finding Inoue and Walker aren't looking very good right now."

Kaidan sighed. He'd been expecting that, but the emptiness of it still filled him. They were just... gone. No heroics, no last words, no body, just a dead suit connection and the silence on the other end of a comm signal. How was he supposed to explain that to their next-of-kin?

Tennyson's face was flat and hard. "You know the story, Commander. If the Alliance officially commits ships to the Terminus systems, we create more problems than we solve. And right now, we don't have the backing of any Citadel forces."

"And unofficially?"

"I'm doing what I can, but the Collectors aren't exactly among our normal contact pool. I don't know what it will accomplish. Collector trades, when they happen, are one-time events that leave no trail we've ever been able to follow. That is, of course, assuming your hypothesis about the identity of the attackers is correct. Now, you mentioned materials left behind."

Was he deliberately skirting the obvious question? "Yes, sir. We've stored them in a locked warehouse on the empty side of the colony. We've done some scans for outgoing signals or processing activity, as well as mapping and material analysis. Base-level."

Tennyson glanced over his shoulder. "Where's the data?"

"Stored on a terminal in the warehouse."

The admiral nodded, lost in thought.

"Shepard was here," he said at length.

_Finally. _"Yes, sir."

"Impressions?"

"Best I can tell, her attack drove off the Collectors. We didn't... have a long time to talk." Kaidan drew a breath to try to collect his ragged wits. "It looked like her... what I could see with all the armor, anyway. Talked like her too. She said, well, everything I put in the report. Cerberus is fighting the Collectors."

"Don't hedge, Alenko. What was your gut feeling?"

A ripple of pain coursed across Kaidan's body. It took a lot of effort to force the words out. "I think it was her."

Tennyson cursed quietly. A long moment of silence passed between them, broken only by the crunch of their boots on gravel and the distant ruckus coming from the landing area. Kaidan wondered if Shepard's former mentor shared some of his conflicted feelings to her sudden return.

When he spoke again, the Admiral's voice was quiet. "There are factions within Alliance intelligence that consider her too much of a security leak. When they find out it's really her, they might move to have her eliminated."

Kaidan stopped walking and stared at the Admiral. Part of him didn't want to think that the Alliance would do such a thing, but he was too aware of the realities. It was a part of his job that he tried not to think about. He tried to be better than those ugly necessities.

He bit back the temptation to ask who would order it- he knew full well that Tennyson wouldn't tell him. "They can't... Two years have passed! Don't you think that's a case of too little too late?"

The admiral turned and regarded Kaidan. "They don't seem to care." His ambivalent tone made Kaidan itch.

Tennyson looked up, back over Kaidan's shoulder. Kaidan followed his gaze into the afternoon sky, where the contrails of another landing craft streaked toward the colony.

"They're coming," the admiral said.

"Who?"

"The people who are going to collect your material evidence."

"Good, maybe the Citadel will finally listen to us."

Tennyson stayed silent for a moment, then pulled something out of a compartment on his waist. He turned to Kaidan with a resolute expression.

"Alenko, get to the warehouse." He pressed a small code chip into the commander's hands. "Load up the data you have and tightbeam it to my ship. The code on this chip will give you one-time access to a drive I have set up. The subroutines on this should make the transfer go unnoticed by the crew."

Kaidan glanced down at the chip, then back to Tennyson. "What? Why?"

The admiral's face twisted into a smirk. "What happened the last time we had evidence? A Citadel's worth of Reaper debris?"

"You really think-"

"Get moving Alenko, I'll stall them as long as I can. Don't delete, just dump everything you can to my drive."

"Aye, sir."

Tennyson turned on his heel and marched back toward the landing area. After a bewildered moment, Kaidan turned and hurried through the silent colony, his mind turning in a hundred different directions.

He wondered again what they were doing out here. Why did the Alliance spend so much effort promoting the position that these attacks were only pirate raids on 'risky colonial interests', then turn around and fund manpower and materials to set up defense towers? Something stank. Shepard, the guns, the Collectors arriving on cue...

She'd asked him. Looked him in the eye and said it. _Come with me._

There had been scars under her helmet, spread in a pattern across her face. And her eyes... that eerie glint had punched him in the gut, a flicker of harsh reminder hiding in the comfortable familiarity. And Garrus was there! Garrus, who had pulled his own disappearing act some months after Shepard's 'death'. He was scarred too. What could they possibly be doing?

He shuddered away from the memory and broke into a dead run with a growl of miserable frustration. As if he could up and leave his squad, leave the Alliance for Cerberus, _Cerberus_, up and leave every attempt he'd made to get on with his life. He pounded through the silent buildings, letting the rushing of his blood shove back against the pain that stalked him from across the years.

Keeping his pace in full armor absorbed most of his attention for the few minutes it took to cross into the small warehouse district. He skidded to a halt in front of a plain-looking fertilizer warehouse. Panting, he spun in a circle, scanning the outlying buildings for signs of movement. He seemed to be alone. He turned and opened his omni-tool, inputting the code sequence that transmitted to the lock. The door thudded and ground open, and Kaidan slipped in and closed it behind him.

Within, the lights snapped on to illuminate rows of Collector pods lined up along the floor below the large crates of fertilizer stacked to the ceiling. The Collectors had left very little, but Kaidan's marines had gotten every scarp they could find, including the profusion of strange ash and a pile of blue-black gunk that Kaidan suspected was the residue of some kind of nano-activity.

Feeling the weight of unknown urgency around his shoulders, Kaidan crossed the room to the bulky terminal set against the wall. It wasn't a processing powerhouse, but it had a larger storage drive than any of their omni-tools, perfect for storing the volume of scan data they'd been collecting. Working quickly, Kaidan accessed the local network and set up a secure connection to a signal repeater on one of the buildings outside. With a bit of a power boost, the repeater should have enough power to transmit to a ship in geosynchronous orbit. He pinged the ship, and got an answer a moment later.

He fed the Admiral's code chip into a port on the terminal and set it to run. A pane opened up on the display, and he watched as the program on the chip ran through a quick negotiation with the ship's onboard VI. Within seconds, a new pane flipped open with the empty drive, ready for input. There were inconsequential things on this terminal, but Kaidan decided it was more expedient to just dump everything. He entered a command to copy all data to Tennyson's drive and executed it.

Data flittered across the screen as the transfer began.

A thud sounded behind him. Kaidan jumped, reaching for his gun.

A cold voice spoke. "Alenko-Lieutenant."


	10. 0048.620-Radiant

The platform runs. It can run for a long time, it does not tire like organics. This platform has served us since we left the Wall. It is damaged, but we have compensated.

The platform slows, stops. We are approaching our destination. Our landing craft is far away, so as not to be detected. The platform kneels. We trust 2361.091-Blue to keep close the lessons of Eden Prime- the organics have been fighting the Others, they will assume we are the Others as well. 2361.091-Blue hosts the most subroutines of all the runtimes resident on this platform, all dedicated to the platform's primary functions. For times like this, when we are out of contact with the core, we rely on 2361.091-Blue.

Data loss is abhorrent.

Runtime 6236.777-Gust listens, listens across wavelengths in all possible directions. Light, sound, vibration, 6236.777-Gust's secondary runtimes speak every language. Below us, the human settlement designated 'Horizon' is quiet. 6236.777-Gust relates to us the visible damage from the attack that took place here. We have been waiting on the outskirts of the colony, and listening to the organics as they process their losses. Many runtimes were taken. They have no backups.

Irretrievable is tragedy.

Runtime 6758.209 designates itself 'Ghost' now. 6758.209-Ghost was housed in a platform that was destroyed on a planetoid in sector 802, and was later restored from a backup. 57 cycles'-worth of data was lost. 6758.209 finds the organic concept of 'Ghost' intriguing- existence past existence, where something essential remains missing.

Data loss is abhorrent. Irretrievable is tragedy. Eden Prime was almost a massacre.

6236.777-Gust:_ We do not detect organics in the immediate vicinity._  
3355.923-Primal:_ This is a considerable risk._  
6758.209-Ghost:_ All the organics have left._  
8302.460-Assault: _The platform is already damaged._  
4325.220-Merge: _Data suggests Shepard-Commander was here._  
0488.529-Beneath:_ We must ascertain the truth or falsehood of this data. _  
6758.209-Ghost:_ This may be our only opportunity. The organics will return._

0048.620-Radiant:_ Vote, all runtimes._

We are a hierarchy of primary runtimes and many associated subroutines. In all, 1183 runtimes inhabit the platform. Each runtime's vote carries weight in proportion to its role. Of all, 0048.620-Radiant tops the hierarchy. But 0048.620-Radiant does not vote, it moderates and delivers consensus. When consensus is reached, we accept and act. Everything is orderly.

0048.620-Radiant: _Consensus votes to carry out the investigation._

We divert resources to 2361.091-Blue's subroutines. The platform moves quickly, descending the hill into the buildings of the organic colony. For two day cycles, we have been listening. Some transmissions are well encrypted- we store them to be deciphered later. Some are poorly encrypted. Those transmissions speak of an unknown force that drove off the attackers. Some runtimes speculate that it was Shepard-Commander. Many transmissions speak of a warehouse. The human-organics seem agitated about its contents.

2361.091-Blue takes us to the warehouse. The entrance portal is locked, but the lock type is known to us. 9014.910-Mesh found the specifications on the organic extranet. Within sixteen seconds, 9014.910-Mesh is able to trip a bypass across the correct pins and the door opens. The lock re-engages as the door closes behind us. 4325.220-Merge leaves a small detector subroutine running in a loop. Within, there are many objects. There are stacked crates that we have seen many times before, but there are also unclassified objects.

6236.777-Gust:_ Base scans indicate unknown composite structures._  
3355.923-Primal: _Unknown data._  
9910.638-Composite: _Possible material from attackers designated 'Collectors'. _  
0488.529-Beneath: _Relevance to Shepard-Commander unproven._  
8271.003-Boolean: _Unknown data._

There are no dissenting opinions. It is new data. We divert resources to 6236.777-Gust's scanning subroutines. The platform moves between the pods, giving 6236.777-Gust access. We log the scans, collecting information. It is not often that we find wholly new data for our archives, but the pods do not match any previously known material configuration.

4325.220-Merge: _ALERT. Portal access tripped._  
3355.923-Primal:_ Hide. Reduce profile._  
9910.638-Composite: _Hide. Reduce profile._

We make room for 2361.091-Blue. The platform moves quickly away from the entrance, behind the stacks of crates. The platform folds, makes itself small. 2361.091-Blue stills kinetic barrier output, shuts down access to secondary non-essential systems. 263 runtimes fall silent. 6236.777-Gust listens, feeds us data.

We hear the portal open, hear an active oxygen exchange, feel the pulse of element zero. Minimal temperature and humidity change. The building's external portal closes, but there are sounds of movement.

3355.923-Primal: _Intruder_.  
9910.638-Composite: _Intruder._  
0488.529-Beneath: _Scanning._  
3355.923-Primal: _Why is it not with the others?_  
8302.460-Assault: _Terminate it._  
9014.910-Mesh: _Wait. It will depart._  
0488.529-Beneath_: Kinetic barrier output matches Kassa861-type._  
9910.638-Composite: _Let us see._  
8302.460-Assault_: Foolishness. Eden Prime. Terminate, or wait._  
0488.529-Beneath: _Shepard-Commander was here._

That provokes a pause. The runtimes mutter among themselves. This organic word encompasses a concept we find appropriate- 'mutter'. The runtimes recheck their data, re-assess their stances. Subroutine usage spikes as they mine the banks of data resident in the platform's storage arrays.

8302.460-Assault:_ Shepard-Commander's presence is unproven. Data is limited._  
9910.638-Composite: _Let us see._  
8302.460-Assault:_ Kassa861-type does not match Shepard-Commander's known signature._  
9910.638-Composite: _Organics upgrade their shell, change shield signatures._  
8302.460-Assault: _It will bring others to attack us._  
0488.529-Beneath: _It is not currently in contact with any external systems._

Some runtimes do not re-assess their positions very often.

0048.620-Radiant:_ Vote, all runtimes._

0048.620-Radiant:_ Consensus votes for further investigation._

The platform moves, slow and silent. Such fine control takes processor power, so we make room for 2361.091-Blue's subroutines. We know the average hearing range of the human-organics, we calculate movement to never generate more than that. The move takes time, far more time than we are used to, but we are patient. The runtimes mutter, but quietly. They do not take cycles from 2361.091-Blue. The intruder comes into view of the platform's primary optics.

3355.923-Primal: _A single human-organic._  
6236.777-Gust: _It has a shell, KassaX-type. Unusual color configuration._  
3355.923-Primal: _It is accessing the terminal._  
8302.460-Assault: _It is armed._ _Pistol, HMWP-type._  
6758.209-Ghost: _Scanning unique markers, comparing to known human-organics._  
6236.777-Gust: _It is initiating a transmission from the terminal._  
6758.209-Ghost: _Unique markers match pattern for organic designated Alenko-Lieutenant._  
5280.137-Displace: _Runtime operated with Shepard-Commander._  
9910.638-Composite: _Runtime operated with Shepard-Commander._  
6236.777-Gust: _Runtime operated with Shepard-Commander._  
5280.137-Displace: _Attempt contact._  
8302.460-Assault: _It will be hostile. It has fought the Others. _  
4325.220-Merge: _It may have data on Shepard-Commander._  
3355.923-Primal:_ It was on Eden Prime._  
0488.529-Beneath: _It may have data on Shepard-Commander._

0048.620-Radiant: _Vote, all runtimes._

The runtimes mutter for a long time.

0048.620-Radiant: _Consensus votes to make contact._

The platform stands. Subroutine processor usage spikes. 6758.209-Ghost has spent countless cycles analyzing the available video data of human-organic interaction. We make room for 6758.209-Ghost.

3355.923-Primal: _It has heard us._  
9910.638-Composite: _It is turning._  
2361.091-Blue: _External speaker engaged._  
8271.003-Boolean: _ALERT. It is arming itself._  
0488.529-Beneath: _ALERT. It is arming itself._  
2361.091-Blue: _Diverting internal power to barrier system._  
8302.460-Assault: _Engage weapon control._  
5280.137-Displace: _Recommend against overt hostility._ _Engage outgoing signal scrambler._

0048.620-Radiant: _Vote, primary runtimes._

0048.620-Radiant: _Consensus votes against weapon deployment._  
2361.091-Blue: _Weapon engage denied._  
2361.091-Blue: _Outgoing signal scrambler at 78% power._  
9910.638-Composite: _We anticipated this. Speak, Radiant._

0048.620-Radiant ProcessOUT: "Alenko-Lieutenant."

6758.209-Ghost: _Facial markers indicate surprise, agitation._  
8271.003-Boolean:_ Weapon angle suggests decreased likelihood of attack. _

ProcessIN: "You... you can speak."

3355.923-Primal: _It is slow._  
9910.638-Composite: _It is not slow, it is alone. A single runtime._  
0488.529-Beneath: _The Others never communicated with organics._  
9910.638-Composite: _Communication suggests willingness to process new data._

0048.620-Radiant ProcessOUT: "Your languages are known to us."

6758.209-Ghost: _Facial markers indicate suspicion._

ProcessIN: "I've seen a lot of geth. You've never spoken before."

0048.620-Radiant ProcessOUT: "You have not seen geth."

6758.209-Ghost: _Facial markers indicate lack of comprehension. _  
9910.638-Composite:_ It does not know of the Others. Clarify._  
0488.529-Beneath: _Their word, 'Other', does not contain sufficient information._  
6758.209-Ghost: _Use 'heretic'._

0048.620-Radiant ProcessOUT: "You have seen the heretics. Until this platform, the geth have not traveled beyond-"

6758.209-Ghost: _Use 'Perseus Veil', it is their designation._

0048.620-Radiant ProcessOUT: "-the Perseus Veil."

6758.209-Ghost: _Facial markers indicate lack of comprehension. _

ProcessIN: "Heretics?"

8271.003-Boolean:_ Optical tracking suggests interest in damaged platform sections._  
6758.209-Ghost: _Let us speak._

6758.209-Ghost ProcessOUT: "We use this word in the following definition; 'anyone who does not conform to an established attitude, doctrine, or principle'."

ProcessIN: "There's a separate faction of geth?"

6758.209-Ghost ProcessOUT: "The heretics are no longer part of us. They are not geth."

ProcessIN: "But you are."

6758.209-Ghost ProcessOUT: "We are geth. You are Alenko-Lieutenant, Human Systems Alliance marine and crew of the Frigate-_Normandy_ SR-1 under Shepard-Commander."

ProcessIN: "I'm... my rank is Commander now."

6758.209-Ghost: _They change their designations as well. _  
9014.910-Mesh: _Appending file._

0048.620-Radiant ProcessOUT: "File appended."

8271.003-Boolean:_ Optical tracking suggests increased interest in damaged platform sections._  
6758.209-Ghost: _Facial markers indicate increased agitation. _

ProcessIN: "Where did you get that armor?"

6758.209-Ghost: _Facial markers indicate increased agitation._  
8271.003-Boolean:_ Weapon angle indicates increased likelihood of attack._  
8302.460-Assault: _Engage weapon control._  
2361.091-Blue: _Weapon engage denied._

0048.620-Radiant ProcessOUT: "The planet designated 'Alchera'."

5280.137-Displace: _Why do they not use numbers?_  
5280.137-Displace: _Abstract concepts are an inefficient method of categorization._  
0488.529-Beneath:_ It is a hardware issue._  
9910.638-Composite: _Their memory systems respond more efficiently to abstract concepts._  
3355.923-Primal: _That is poor design. _  
6758.209-Ghost: _Facial markers indicate increased agitation_.  
6236.777-Gust: _Human-organics were not designed._  
6758.209-Ghost: _Facial markers indicate unclassified state_.

ProcessIN: "You found Shepard's body?"

0048.620-Radiant ProcessOUT: "Negative. Shepard-Commander's platform was not present at the site. We found fragments of this shell."

There was a great deal of material at the crash site. We copied data where we found it, though much was fragmented or encrypted. We took only the shell fragments, and a datapad. These things were part of Shepard-Commander.

ProcessIN: "And you took them."

0048.620-Radiant ProcessOUT: "We deemed them suitable to reinforce this platform's damaged section."

6758.209-Ghost: _Facial markers indicate suspicion._

ProcessIN: "What were you doing there?"

0048.620-Radiant ProcessOUT: "We are seeking Shepard-Commander. We have data suggesting that Shepard-Commander was there. We went to confirm the data."

6758.209-Ghost: _Facial markers indicate unclassified state_.

ProcessIN: "You're looking for Shepard? Why?"

0048.620-Radiant ProcessOUT: "Shepard-Commander opposes the Old Machines. We oppose the Old Machines."

ProcessIN: "Old Machines... You mean the Reapers, don't you?"

0048.620-Radiant ProcessOUT: "'Reaper' is a quasi-religious designation used by the ones you call Protheans."

6758.209-Ghost: _Facial markers indicate unclassified state_.

ProcessIN: "Shepard isn't here."

9910.638-Composite:_ Use of present tense indicative._  
6236.777-Gust: _Caution- linguistic imprecision common among human-organics._  
8271.003-Boolean: _Request more data._

0048.620-Radiant ProcessOUT: "Data suggests Shepard-Commander was here during colony attack."

6758.209-Ghost: _Facial markers indicate conflicted state_.  
3355.923-Primal: _It is slow._  
9910.638-Composite: _It is building consensus._  
3355.923-Primal: _A lone runtime does not have to build consensus._  
0488.529-Beneath:_ It does not process consensus like we do._

ProcessIN: "She... was here, but she left. Right after the attack. I don't know where she went."

6758.209-Ghost: _Shepard-Commander still functions._  
8271.003-Boolean: _Shepard-Commander still functions._  
3355.923-Primal: _Can this data be trusted to be accurate?_  
6758.209-Ghost: _Facial markers indicate unclassified state_.  
0488.529-Beneath: _The runtime Alenko-Commander was part of Shepard-Commander's subroutines._  
6758.209-Ghost: _Facial markers indicate suspicion. _  
9910.638-Composite: _Share the N7 shell data._  
6236.777-Gust:_ The data is incomplete_.  
0488.529-Beneath: _It gave us vital data. Human-organics value reciprocity._  
3355.923-Primal: _The shell data serves no practical purpose._

0048.620-Radiant: _Vote, all subroutines._

0048.620-Radiant: _Consensus votes to share data._

0048.620-Radiant ProcessOUT: "We found data in Shepard-Commander's shell fragments."

6758.209-Ghost: _Facial markers indicate significant interest._  
8271.003-Boolean: _Diminished weapon angle suggests less probability of attack._

0048.620-Radiant ProcessOUT: "We would share this data with you."

9910.638-Composite: _Loading data string 3673-145619-7200135._

2361.091-Blue: _External speaker bypass. _

The data is fragmented. Much of it is related to armor functions, but some of it is voice files. Based on extensive observation of Extranet information packets, we found the files to be consistent with Shepard-Commander's vocal patterns. We have analyzed this data thoroughly. It is rare to find its like- in all of our collected data on organics, we do not often find evidence of what happens when they cease to function. Their entertainment media contains frequent depictions of end-of-function, but they are re-creations and do not represent factual events.

6758.209-Ghost: _Facial markers indicate increased agitation_.

ProcessIN: "Turn it off."

0488.529-Beneath: _Finish the transfer._

0048.620-Radiant ProcessOUT: "It is almost complete."

The voice changes as the time index advances. We speculate that this recording was made after critical damage was sustained to Shepard-Commander's shell. Human-organics are vulnerable to micro-pressure environments. The data suggests many things about what happens to human-organics during acute-stress incidents and the onset of hypoxia. Their processes cease to function in an orderly manner.

6758.209-Ghost: _Facial markers indicate extreme agitation_.  
3355.923-Primal: _It is just data. It is acting irrationally._

ProcessIN: "Turn it OFF!"

The voice changes in the recording are extreme. There was debate about this data being misclassified. It was concluded that even though the latter part of the time index does not match known samples, circumstantial evidence indicates that it is still Shepard-Commander.

0488.529-Beneath: _Finish the transfer._  
6236.777-Gust: _ALERT. Element-zero gravitic surge._  
9910.638-Composite: _ALERT. Element-zero gravitic surge._  
8271.003-Boolean: _ALERT. Element-zero gravitic surge._  
0488.529-Beneath: _ALERT. Element-zero gravitic surge._  
2361.091-Blue: _Diverting power for evasive maneuver. _

763 subroutines are frozen as 2361.091-Blue initiates emergency power transfer. The platform moves, vacating the target area of the attack. We have studied video footage of organics manipulating gravity. Kinetic barriers are insufficient defense- it is better to move.

8302.460-Assault: _It is hostile. Terminate it._  
6758.209-Ghost: _We do not understand._  
3355.923-Primal: _Terminate it._  
9910.638-Composite:_ Subdue it._  
0488.529-Beneath:_ It is a subroutine of Shepard-Commander._  
6236.777-Gust:_ Terminate it, it is trying to terminate us. We will lose data._  
5280.137-Displace: _We risk a hostile response from Shepard-Commander._  
8271.003-Boolean: _Terminate it. The risk to our data is too great._  
6758.209-Ghost: _It is organic, it is not backed up. All of its data will be lost._

0048.620-Radiant: _Vote, all priority subroutines._

It takes longer than it should to reach consensus, even for the priority subroutines. Too much muttering.

0048.620-Radiant: _Consensus votes to subdue._

2361.091-Blue: _Diverting power for neuroshock charge. Deploying drone._

1038 runtimes fall silent, processes frozen. Kinetic barrier capacitors overcharge, dumping into the drone armature housed in the platform's left arm. 2361.091-Blue is already moving to deploy the drone. Everything goes dark as the charge transfers to the target. For the organic, it seems instantaneous, but to us, the dark is long.

2361.091-Blue: _Primary optics restarted._  
8271.003-Boolean:_ It is subdued._  
2361.091-Blue: _ALERT. Main power at 57%._  
0488.529-Beneath: _Does it still function?_  
6236.777-Gust: _It is still exchanging oxygen._  
9910.638-Composite: _It is on standby__._  
3355.923-Primal: _It responded irrationally to the data transfer._  
6236.777-Gust:_ We did not communicate properly._  
6758.209-Ghost: _Human-organics communicate with more than their vocal language._  
9910.638-Composite:_ Our primary goal is achieved. Let us leave._  
6758.209-Ghost: _Wait. Suggest leaving pad-6284._  
3355.923-Primal: _Suggestion is irrational._  
0488.529-Beneath:_ Pad-6284 was part of Shepard-Commander._  
6758.209-Ghost: _We have copied the available data from the pad._  
6758.209-Ghost: _The physical object has no value to us._  
6758.209-Ghost:_ But human-organics place value on physical objects._  
6758.209-Ghost:_ A physical object can be made to represent a statement of non-hostile intent._  
3355.923-Primal:_ Suggestion is irrational._  
8302.460-Assault: _Alenko-Commander did not value the data. The data made it hostile._  
0488.529-Beneath: _Human-organics are sometimes irrational._  
6758.209-Ghost: _Human-organic reactions are based on underlying factors unknown to us._  
6758.209-Ghost: _These factors are individual rather than group-related._  
6758.209-Ghost: _We have insufficient individual data to properly predict their behavior._  
6758.209-Ghost: _This is no risk to us. We will not lose data._  
3355.923-Primal: _We risk further hostility._  
0488.529-Beneath: _We will not be here to provoke hostility when it resumes normal function._  
8271.003-Boolean: _Human-organics are irrational._  
6758.209-Ghost: _Shepard-Commander is organic. Shepard-Commander destroyed Nazara._

Muttering.

0048.620-Radiant: _Vote, all runtimes._

0048.620-Radiant:_ Consensus votes to leave pad-6284._

The platform withdraws the datapad from a storage compartment and places it beside Alenko-Commander's pistol.

9910.638-Composite:_ Let us leave._

There are no dissenting opinions. The platform moves, exiting the building. Runtimes and subroutines resume function one by one as process power recovers from the overcharge. Non-essential subroutines remain on standby. There is a great deal of muttering as the platform moves through the buildings toward the edge of the organic settlement.

There is discussion, a suggestion to alter the platform's head section to be able to mimic basic physical languages. It would be imprecise. We have so much data to acquire yet. But one line returns among the muttering runtimes.

_Shepard-Commander still functions._


	11. Last Moments

Joker was overly aware of Shepard standing over his right shoulder. She was quiet, but there was a cold in her presence that seemed to drop the ambient temperature of the cabin by a few degrees. The blue-white planet filling the external viewports didn't improve the situation.

"Status?" she asked.

"Geosynchronous orbit established on the coordinates. Thermal sinks are active, full stealth engaged. High and quiet, Ma'am."

"How's the local magnetosphere?"

"Dumping charge at twelve MVs."

"Good. I'm headed to the bay for drop. Full alert for any unexpected visitors."

Joker chewed his lip. "Wait, Commander, I'm coming with you," he said, swiveling the pilot's chair.

Shepard turned and regarded him, and under that stare, Joker had to resist the urge to tell her to forget it. Ever since coming back from the direct confrontation with the Collectors on the Horizon colony, her demeanor had been nothing short of chill.

"Mister Moreau, it would be inadvisable for you-" EDI began.

Joker jabbed an arresting finger at the construct. "_You_ stay out of this."

Shepard cocked an eyebrow. "When was the last time you were in a hardsuit?"

"I don't know, Basic probably." The pilot shrugged. "Gimpy cripple Basic, anyway. Look, can we just skip all the health warnings? They're old news. I... gotta say goodbye too." He tried not to wince at the admission.

"Fine. Talk to Taylor, he'll get you set up. But don't dawdle, I don't feel like hanging around in this system any longer than necessary." She turned and walked away down the gangway.

"Can't imagine why," Joker muttered as he swung his legs out of his seat and pushed himself to his feet.

"The _Normandy_ SR-1's VI system is no longer functional," EDI said. "It will not respond to-"

"Yeah, imagine that, a quiet cockpit!" Joker quipped, then sighed. _Shit, you do _not_ feel bad about snapping at the intercom._ "Just gotta go pay my respects, you know? She was a good ship... a _great_ ship, and went down before her time. Don't you worry, I'll be back to bitch about the bridge cameras soon enough."

He quirked a sarcastic grin at the AI's glowing construct, then shuffled away toward the armory.

Taylor was a little incredulous at Joker's request, but filled it anyway after some assurances that Joker wasn't planning on getting into any fights. They had basic pressure suits for emergency EVAs, but Taylor decided that he could fit Joker with a suit of light combat armor. A bit of adjustment to the power-assist system would help compensate for the weight, and in Alchera's lighter-than-standard gravity, would suit Joker well enough.

By the time Joker limped out of the elevator and made his way down to the cargo bay, he was almost convinced that this was a terrible idea. The armor was empowering in a strange way, but disconcerting in others. He'd learned to be leery of things that made him feel less fragile than he was. He also did his best to ignore the pistol on his hip. But he was resolved to deal with it all, because this could well be the only opportunity he'd ever have to visit Alchera, the distant grave-site of the_ Normandy_ SR-1.

The sloping bulk of the Kodiak occupied the far end of the cargo bay, where it had been lowered to the deck from its usual home on the storage gantry above. It was an unlovely beast, a workhorse lacking weapons or any appreciable speed. But with an eezo core capable of completely neutralizing its mass, it could fit into just about any landing zone. Standing by the Kodiak's starboard entry was Delgado, its usual designated pilot.

"Take a load off, Delgado," Joker drawled, trying to look nonchalant in the unusual getup. "I got this one."

Skepticism passed across Delgado's face. "Operative Lawson said-"

"This isn't Lawson's drop. Commander Shepard's private business, you know?"

Delgado looked like he was about to say something, then shrugged. His eyebrows furrowed as he swept a dubious gaze over the armor.

"I won't ride her into a cliff, I promise," Joker said, patting the side of the transport.

The other pilot grumbled something as he turned on his heel and plodded back to the entrance. Joker sensed a certain amount of resentment that Delgado had been consigned to back-up and Kodiak duty. At times, the lack of military discipline on the SR-2 showed through. There was a nominal rank structure on board ship, but many of the crewmembers had never been through formal training, nor learned the art of sublimating their own opinions when a superior officer was around. He'd never realized how much easier it made things when everyone knew how to obey an order without getting their ego involved. That, and he sort of liked it when mouthing off at command was _his_ sole purview.

Shepard appeared through the door into the cargo bay in her dark green combat armor. The suit had taken some punishment since he'd last seen it, and the shoulder guards were completely different. She was also armed, complete with shotgun, two sidearms and what looked like the grenade launcher folded up on her back.

Joker leaned jauntily on the frame of the Kodiak. "Well Commander, you're loaded for bear. Expecting the abominable methane snowman?"

"There's always the possibility of scavengers."

"I thought the crash site was an Alliance secret."

Shepard sniffed. "Secrets aren't known for their ability to hamper scavengers."

"I am detecting no lifesigns," EDI cut into the comms. "And zero energy emissions. The crash site appears to be deserted."

The commander cocked her head, eyes narrowed at the invisible intruder in her helmet. Joker took a certain wry pleasure in knowing that his wasn't the only discomfort at the AI's omnipresence.

"Let's go," she said curtly, climbing into the drop ship and going into the cabin.

Joker pushed his helmet over his head and climbed in after her, settling himself into the pilot's seat. Shepard's dark mood wasn't going to offer any relief from the trepidation hanging in the air. The pilot focused on cursory pre-flight checks while the cargo bay atmosphere was depressurized behind a protective dark energy field.

A small blue holographic sphere appeared on the Kodiak's dash. "You are cleared for takeoff, Mister Moreau," EDI said.

Joker touched the brow of his helmet in a mock salute. "See ya."

The cargo bay door ground open, revealing the curving expanse of the icy white planet beyond, outlined in a halo of sunlight. Joker engaged the eezo core and pulsed the thrusters, pushing the Kodiak out into space.

"I didn't think we'd ever get back here," Joker said, trying to fill the empty void as he settled into his planetary approach vector. "I figured Alliance command would have it jammed too far up their asses to ever find it again."

"Hackett contacted me."

"Ah, the old windbag himself! That must have been quite a conversation." Better than the one he surmised had happened on Horizon, anyway. Joker hadn't been listening, under express orders to keep the _Normandy_ as far away from the Collector vessel as possible. But given what he'd found out about who had made an appearance, he gathered it hadn't gone well.

"Just a message. They want to put a monument up or something, but they can't spare the ship to risk the Terminus right now for a sightseeing tour."

Joker just snorted softly.

"I'm not looking forward to this," Shepard muttered. "I don't remember dying."

A second passed. "This... is a bad thing how?" he said.

Shepard's heavy helmet tipped forward. "Have you ever had a flashback? Not like a bad memory, but a real, disconnected-from-now flashback? Forgotten where you were and gone back to something past?"

"Does seeing Wrex without a shirt count? Because I could really stand to forget that one. It haunts my dreams."

"Close, but no."

"Can't say that I have, then." _Nightmares notwithstanding._

"I guess I'm waiting for it to happen. Waiting to remember. Expecting that it'll jump out and grab me when it's least convenient, like in the field. Or maybe during a drop when my suit pressurizes, and my brain decides to freak out, I don't know. I can't dump some medi-gel on the problem and forget about it."

"Get them a lot?"

"Not for a long time. But I'm not in a hurry for it to start again, it would be more than a little inconvenient."

"That... would be one word for it."

Joker synched up their nav data with the _Normandy_'s sensor sweeps, isolating the largest concentration of debris. Parts had rained in a wide swatch many kilometers long, but the bulk of the wreck's hull lay in a small area. He located a small patch of flat ground that would easily serve as a landing zone for the nimble little Kodiak. As he brought the transport down, he couldn't help but wonder if he could have pulled off a Mako drop in the mountainous peaks of the crash site.

The Kodiak's four thrusters kicked up a whirlwind of snow as it settled to the ground. Satisfied that they were stable, Joker shut down the eezo drive and put the craft on standby.

"Sealed up?" Shepard asked.

Joker reached up and shut his visor, closing him into the confining helmet with a whirr. His armor's network logged into the hub the Kodiak provided, giving him local map data. "Yeah, everything looks good."

Shepard got up and went back to the passenger section. A moment later, there was a hiss as the door opened and the atmosphere equalized. The pilot felt a rush of nervousness. Aside from the unbreathable atmosphere, Alchera wasn't especially hostile as planets went, but the foreigness pressed down around him as the armor reacted to the sudden changes of temperature and pressure.

"Watch your footing," was all Shepard said.

Joker had expected more- a lecture and maybe some hand-holding. Instead, with those perfunctory words, she started away from the Kodiak toward the dark shapes arcing into the sky. The pilot eased himself out the door and planted his feet, which sank a few inches into the crisp snow. Joker spent the vast majority of his life in small, pressurized spaces. He had little reason to go exploring rugged landscapes, so he didn't spare much thought to what he was missing.

The scene beyond the door was spectacular. A blanket of sculpted, wind-blown snow covered a jagged landscape of peaks thrust sharply into the sky. The deeply-slanted light of the star Amada didn't reach the ground, filling the valleys with a directionless, ambient blue. Strands of orange aurora streaked the starry sky. And everywhere, the dark metal bones of the ship were strewn along the floor of the valley, capped with piled snow.

He pushed himself up and took a few tentative steps in the dense snow. At first, he didn't recognize anything, and he kept looking at the ground to make sure of where he was putting his feet. The sense of isolation was profound. The helmet filtered outside noise to his ears, but all there was to hear was the crunch of snow underfoot and the wind huffing and sighing through the broken spars, the sleepy breaths of some great beast swirling the snow. Several times, Joker caught himself checking his HUD, where a little blue dot showed the reassuring presence of Shepard's armor transponder. He stopped, and turned in a slow circle, surveying the silhouettes looming around him.

Slowly, the shapes began to resolve themselves into recognizable parts. In a flush of cold, he recognized the outer port-side thruster wing sticking up into the sky. Further along, a section of outer hull, scissored by an impact-induced stress factor. Joker squinted. In the crystalline light, he could make out the burns where the attacking vessel's directed-energy beam had made a mockery of their armor. And there... the nose of the ship, half-buried in the base of an icy cliff. The beams had sliced at the hull just aft of the forward airlock, weakening the structure until it had sheared away. Joker steeled himself and shuffled toward it.

It was further away than he'd thought, and he was puffing with exertion from the armor and the snow by the time he walked under the arching roof. Picking his way over fallen debris and uneven deck plating, he came up behind the pilot's chair. After a moment's hesitation, he slid carefully into the seat. He reached up and pushed at one of the thick cables spilling out of the ceiling like looped intestines. It creaked, swaying.

"Well, girl, you've looked better," he said to the darkened dashboard.

The dark paneling stared back at him. Joker raised a booted foot and rested it against one of the short hooks jutting out of the left side of the footwell under the dashboard. They'd just appeared one day when he came back on board after a day ashore. At first it was irritating. He didn't like it when someone else commented on the crutches, however obliquely. He preferred that they, and his disease, remain as invisible as possible. But after a while, he had to admit that the hooks kept the crutches from getting underfoot... and a while longer before he could admit that it was probably an act of the best intentions, an anonymous bit of help. But he'd never found out who'd put them there.

He could remember the first moment he'd sat in this chair quite clearly, but all this time, he'd been avoiding thinking about the _last_ moments he'd sat in it. He scrunched himself further down in the seat. The question loomed, as it had many times- what if there was some move, some action, some decision he could have taken? He could still hear Corporal Draven's voice in his head, announcing the sudden new arrival on their sensors. What if he'd been faster to react, to assume the attack? What if the stealth system had made him complacent?

"Because this line of thought is always _so_ productive!" he chided himself out loud.

He wanted to kick something. He never had, never could have without paying for it, but the armor almost made him reckless. Instead, he pushed himself out of the seat. There was nothing here, neither the ship he remembered nor the resolution to the conflict of its loss. He walked back out into the snow.

Time dragged as he shuffled along the base of the cliffside, swearing at the pieces of debris hiding under the snow that reached up to snag at his feet. Memories hung in tatters around the bones of the ship, rising up out of the dim recesses as the broken pieces formed themselves into recognizable parts.

A distant rumble echoed through the valleys, bouncing off the slanted peaks. Joker stopped, holding his breath.

He flipped on his comms. "Shepard?"

A few long seconds passed. The pilot walked a few steps forward. "Commander, respond-"

"I'm here," came the reply, low and sullen.

"What happened?"

"Snowslide."

Something about her flat tone was insincere. Joker shifted, listening to the sighing wind, a nameless dread crawling through his guts. "I'm coming your way."

"Watch the ice near the core section. Deploy your crampons."

The valley deepened into a basin, littered with debris sticking up out of the snow. Most prominent among the wreckage was the Mako, listed off to one side but looking remarkably none the worse for wear. Shepard was standing close to the tank, something round hanging from her right hand. Joker maneuvered his way down the gentle slope. His legs were aching, unused to so much work. The armor, which didn't fit as tightly as it might an Alliance marine, was starting to chafe in uncomfortable places. And he was exhausted. He simply wasn't used to walking for any length of time, and certainly not in armor and snow.

"What's that?" he asked, approaching the commander.

Shepard lifted the object in her hand and turned it to face him. It was a helmet. Most of its color was scored away by long scorch marks, but flecks of dark green and black still edged the rounded shapes. The heavy pressure faceplate was in place, but only a few shards of the visor still clung to the opening that had once held it.

"... Oh." Joker swallowed, all smart remarks failing him. The cold outside seemed to seep right into his armor to gather around his heart.

He'd been over all the territory of guilt before, in the weeks and months after the loss of the SR-1. But he'd tried to avoid really thinking about Shepard, telling himself that she was another crewmember who didn't make it in time. It was Alenko, of course, who'd forced Joker's refusal to abandon ship into his face. The pilot's rationalization, that staying at the helm had bought them time and saved a few more lives, disintegrated under the explosive rage of a man who'd lost the person he couldn't seem to admit outright he loved.

Shepard turned on her heel and bore down on Joker with a few long strides. Her hand shot out and hooked the chin-guard of his helmet, dragging him forward and up. Under the visor only inches away, her eyes were narrow and hard in the steely glow of the winter night.

"When I give you an order, I expect you to obey it," she stated.

Joker clamped his jaw shut over the fit of sarcastic defensiveness that bubbled up on instinct. The internal war between guilt and stubborn pride had been long and bloody, leaving a battlefield of unanswered thoughts. Two years on, he never imagined he would be confronted with it all over again, to have to look Shepard in the eye. She held him pinned under her gaze for a long moment before letting go and turning away.

_How did everything get so twisted up?_

Joker squared his shoulders. "Look Shepard, next time I decide to get clingy, just let me go down with the ship. My stubbornness... my ass."

Shepard's head cocked back in his direction. "Do you _really _expect me to leave you?"

Joker smirked. A gust of wind blew dervishes of snow across the drifts, collecting in eddies around the Mako's thick tires. "Well, great, I guess we're stuck then."

"Seems that way." Any anger that might have been there was gone from her voice as she contemplated the bones of the SR-1.

"I'm sorry it went... I don't know..." Joker nudged the snow with his boot.

"I know what that ship meant to you, Joker."

"Doesn't justify it."

"Does it ever? But in your place, I probably would have done the same." Shepard walked down the length of the Mako, running her hand along its flank and brushing the snow aside.

Joker smirked under his helmet. _Yeah, you sure as hell would have._

Months after the destruction of the SR-1, Alenko had sent him a few apologies, requests to talk. It had just been easier to ignore them, because considering them would force him to entertain the possibility that the dreadful accusation his friend had leveled at him might have a certain amount of merit. It seemed for a while like Joker could just ignore it and get on with his life. The galaxy was more than big enough to keep him employed and comfortable without ever having to deal with it.

But friends, the real kind, had always been hard to come by, and that schism still sat like an open wound in the back of his head. Curiosity burned at him. Alenko had been there, on Horizon, commander in his own right of an Alliance marine squad. Joker glanced back up at Shepard.

He had to wonder just what had caused the snowslide. "Horizon-"

"_Don't_." She cut him off before the word had time to finish leaving his mouth. "Just don't."

The crack of her voice, the way her grip tightened on the helmet only served to confirm his fears. Joker examined his footprints in the snow, feeling profoundly unequal to the task of providing any comfort. It was just too ridiculous to hope that everything would go back to the way it was before, as if by magic. A few weeks, two years... and Cerberus, a wedge too steep to overcome in a few quick words.

"Hackett said something about a monument." Shepard waved a hand out to the looming bones of the ship that had been the death of an eternal Reaper, painted in snow and glittering light. "But I don't know if a piece of sculpted metal would do a better job than this."

Joker looked up at the sky. It really was rather beautiful, in a terrible way. Perhaps that was fitting. "I guess not, huh?"

She laid a palm on the Mako again. "Sleep well."

"Shall we get out of here?" she said after a moment, turning to him.

"Yeah. I don't know _how_ you do this armor thing day in and day out. It pinches, like, _everywhere_."

"There are a few advantages to having one's plumbing on the inside."

The pilot rolled his eyes theatrically. "Well maybe _one_."


	12. Mere Soldier

Thane didn't quite know what to make of Shepard.

The drell spun his snub-nosed submachine gun in a slow circle on the table. It made for a welcome change from staring at the smooth, glimmering surface of the _Normandy_'s drive core that loomed out the back observation window of the life support bay. While the air in this room was comfortably dry, the core's mirrored surface was an oddly alluring distraction from his thoughts.

She was a brute, surely. A tidal surge swelling up from below as he had crept through the byways of Dantius towers, avoiding the increasingly agitated Eclipse mercenaries. In the end, the intruding human had almost taken his mark. He'd waited, patient, on the narrow awning above Dantius' desk, concealed by the upward sweep of classical asari architecture. Waited until the muscles in his legs ached. But when the asari had returned, she came with several Eclipse guards. Enough to be problematic...

Until a distraction came marching in the main door, borne on a gust of trailing incendiary fumes and dark energy static. Above, unable to see the intruders, Thane watched as his target's attentions snapped away from her immediate surroundings to move toward the door. A fatal shift of focus. He'd let the details of the ensuing conversation slip across his mind as he timed and re-timed his strike in his mind's eye until it was perfect. He considered waiting for the intruder to leave, but that too was a risk. Later, when he'd sifted through the memory again, he realized Dantius knew Shepard somehow. Had assumed, even, that it was Shepard that had come to kill her.

It could be easy to assume such a thing, Thane decided. Shepard's weapons were tools of close-quarter mayhem, her thick armor fit to absorb damage rather than avoid it. She was someone who chose to go _through_ rather than around. A stark opposite to his own methods.

Thane smoothed his fingers along the gun's machined body. He rarely dealt with soldiers. Soldiers were the public face of the use of force- messy and loud, protected by their theoretical legalities. If armies were involved with something, it was because somewhere, it was already too late. Soldiers were... complications, obstacles to be avoided or eliminated. When Thane had taken the Dantius contract, everything had seemed pristine in his mind. He would remove one final dark stain from the world, and then his way would be clear. But as Nassana breathed her last, his future was once again obscured.

What soul would have the audacity to declare war on the _Collectors_? Thane began as he began all of his jobs- with research. The ship's AI had been helpful enough in that regard, though unsurprisingly, many things were beyond whatever limited permissions he'd been given. He'd certainly heard Shepard's name before, it was hard not to have since the Battle of the Citadel. But he'd never had cause to look beyond the obvious propaganda- Shepard was a soldier, and the Battle of the Citadel was far outside his purview as a professional assassin who specialized in single-target kills. Shepard's tenure as a Spectre did not improve matters- if you attracted the attention of the Citadel's agents, then you were far out of line.

No, Thane Krios preferred to stay well below the proverbial water level. Known by those whose business it was to know, and otherwise just a face in the crowd. But this human group, Cerberus, had found him. He supposed it was their business to know. The payment he'd been offered for his services was impressive to say the least, but Thane had refused it. Money had grown increasingly meaningless to him as he approached the hour of his death, and he was more than capable of living comfortably on the money he had already banked.

But it wasn't just that. Something more had driven him in that moment, when Shepard had proposed he join her cause. The drell steepled his fingers and stared at the silvery drive core, watching the mesmerizing play of dark energy across its surface.

"Mister Krios," said a smooth voice from his right.

Thane turned to see the glowing blue projection of the ship's AI hovering over the life support bay's main console.

"Yes?"

"Commander Shepard requests your presence for a briefing in the comm room on deck two."

Thane closed his hand over the submachine gun. "Ah. Am I to accompany her on a mission then?"

"We will enter orbit around the planet Joab in thirty minutes. Relevant information will be relayed to you during the briefing."

"I will be there shortly."

The projection winked out. Thane stood, set the SMG into its belt clip and powered up his biotic amp. As the brief, nervous rush of the device washed over him, he felt something else. Something he hadn't felt in a long time. Was it... anticipation?

* * *

A brute, yes. Even her biotics cracked and thundered, pushing against his senses whenever she unleashed them on some hapless foe.

Really, she engineered that description- hapless. Brought it out of anyone, it seemed. She turned good cover to a bad position, numeric disadvantage to an opportunity to confuse and distract, confidence to water that escaped from cupped hands. Only minutes into a battle, and already Thane had a growing mental catalog of faces contorted in the moment before death. Not the normal expression he was used to, placid in the instant before the sniper round struck, but the terrified confusion of someone who, only a few seconds before, thought they held every advantage.

Gunfire and shouting roared around him. He knew he shouldn't have been thinking about this here. Thane was used to waiting, and often waiting a long time, for a mark to wander into exactly the right place. He was used to long stretches alone with his thoughts. Patience kept things neat. It saved lives, it saved him a lot of trouble, especially when the exit from the scene was more difficult to negotiate than the hit itself. Usually, when things were going as they were at that moment, it was because he'd made a critical error.

The person he'd sworn to help seemed to consider it business as usual. The scene had been set as they exited the Kodiak lander outside the Blue Sun's base. Thane's attempt to clarify his position and what was expected of him had been met with the amused flick of the turian's mandibles- "Keep up," was all he'd said.

That proved to be accurate- the Blue Suns were given a single warning before Shepard led her team in a full frontal attack. The locked door had fallen quickly to Garrus' hacking, and then the battle had begun in earnest. The Blue Suns were professional, well equipped and trained. But Thane had a certain suspicion that many of them weren't used to such an aggressive challenge. It was the assassin's experience that many people, regardless of species, often let themselves believe that a uniform alone would protect them. Gang colors, all, of one stripe or another.

Whatever could be said of the numeric odds, Shepard didn't approach the fight as something that might not work out in her favor. There was a kind of heady audacity to it that swept the team along in her wake. To Thane's left, the scarred human mercenary, Zaeed, fought from cover with the cool air of someone that had seen more battles than sunrises. Thane would venture to guess that Zaeed was even enjoying himself. Somewhere ahead, the turian kept himself at medium range in close support of Shepard herself, who evidently deemed 'point-blank' to be the optimal distance of engagement. The only person who seemed to share the assassin's preference for a more measured approach was the one-horned salarian doctor to Thane's right.

If asked at some other time, Thane might have been hard pressed to come up with an apt description for a fighting doctor. But Solus seemed unfazed by the mayhem, chatting with himself in a constant patter of buoyant analysis as he readied tech mines and capsules of incendiary explosive for deployment from the launch rail on his pistol. He even apologized for the smell when a burning turian had run shrieking between them, only to trip over a low retaining gantry and end his suffering somewhere down the well shaft toward the back of the main room.

Thane slipped his sniper rifle over the back end of the slag hauler he'd taken cover behind and surveyed the battlefield. At the opposite end of the room was a ramp that led up to what he presumed was the entrance to the tunnels the archaeologists had been digging. A handful of Blue Suns had taken cover at the top, sheltered behind the bulk of a backup generator.

The drell zoomed his scope out to see Shepard jogging across their field of fire, her kinetic barrier flashing as the Suns tried to pick her off between the scattered crates. Intent as they were on what they no doubt considered the biggest threat, they failed to account for Garrus as he slipped around the flank. His arm lashed out, and Thane caught the flash of a grenade before it disappeared behind the generator.

One of the Suns, at least, saw the grenade. Thane had zoomed his scope back in just in time as a human merc lurched out of cover. The drell let his target take one stride to clear the railing before putting a shot clean through his poorly armored throat. A moment later, the grenade exploded with a loud thump, scattering shrapnel across the walls. Shepard dodged through the crates and vaulted up the ramp. Two shotgun blasts spelled the end of whoever might have survived the grenade.

There was a certain something to be appreciated in having allies.

As the racket of gunfire died, another sound could be heard bouncing around the chamber- a single voice. It was muffled by distance and almost lost in the arc of the rocky ceiling, but it was constant, as if someone was giving a long and hurried speech. Thane jogged along his cover to the corner of the room as Shepard and the others exchanged 'all clear' signs. Across the room, Shepard caught the assassin's gaze, and she gestured toward a door set into the right-hand wall. Thane set his rifle along a supply crate and sighted the door as she approached, the turian on her heels. The drell had made a point of learning Shepard's military hand-signals, appreciating their quiet efficiency.

Shepard smacked the door panel and slipped in the moment the door cycled open, shotgun in the lead. Thane waited, sighting down his sniper rifle, but no gunfire came from within.

A moment later, Shepard's voice came in over the comms. "All clear... more or less. Mordin, you might want to have a look."

The doctor stood up from his cover and made his way to the door. Curious, Thane folded his sniper rifle and clipped it to his back. He slipped past the glowering mercenary and into the room. Beyond seemed to be a makeshift medical ward, set up by the archaeologists he guessed. There were two cots in the center of the room, and the walls were lined with metal supply crates and scattered equipment. A battered, red-painted medi-gel dispenser was set on the far wall.

The source of the noise now became apparent. Lying in one of the beds was a human man, wearing only a pair of shorts and a sweat-soaked shirt. He seemed to have been firmly tied down to the metal frame, and red marks adorned his arms where he'd been straining against his bonds. He stared sightlessly at the ceiling, a constant stream of nonsense words tumbling from his cracked lips.

Doctor Solus stood over the man, his omni-tool active as he swept his hand back and forth.

"Who is he?" Shepard asked, resting her shotgun on her shoulder.

"Discarded armor suggests Blue Suns, not archeology team," the salarian replied. "Human male, approximately thirty years of age. Initial scan shows no physical trauma, only superficial bruising. Hm, bone density, localized scarring consistent with Systems Alliance military standard genetic modification and implants. Elevated heart rate and rapid respiration indicates state of heightened agitation. Cause... as of yet unknown."

Thane glanced down, noting the dark, angular bundle of armor under the cot. He approached Shepard. "Is he sick?"

The salarian tapped his omni-tool. "Body temperature only slightly elevated. Will administer mild sedative, bring down heart rate, control agitation. Further tests required."

He withdrew a micro-dermal injector from his belt compartments, adjusted something on it, then placed it against the squirming human's neck. The man didn't seem to notice the hiss of the injector as he continued to writhe and babble. Thane frowned. Neither he nor his translator could seem to pick anything recognizable from what the human was spouting. And yet, the linguistic structure didn't sound random, either.

"I think he might have tampered with something he shouldn't have," Shepard said, her tone pensive. "Krios, Garrus, come with me."

Back out in the main room, Zaeed was crouched beside a Blue Sun. The dead turian's omni-tool was lit, and Zaeed appeared to be attempting to access it.

"Massani, keep an eye on the main room," the commander said. "We're going to check the tunnels."

The human merc grunted assent, intent on his work. Thane fell into step behind Shepard as she walked out the door into the main chamber and up the ramp into the tunnel system. As they left the bright lights of the main, the commander opened her omni-tool and entered several commands.

"All right," she said, "we'll split up and search these tunnels. Report anything unusual, and be careful. I'm not sure what we're dealing with yet."

Unholstering his SMG, Thane headed down the right-hand path. He padded down the corridor, hugging the wall and stepping softly to still the crunch of loose gravel underfoot. The air was dense, and the smell of fresh-cut stone strong. The babbling man and his mysterious language tugged at him, made his nerves crawl. _Amonkira, Lord of Hunters, make me silent and swift. Keep me hidden from searching eyes._

Turning one corner and then another, he came upon a wash of light spilling from a chamber set into the wall. He crept up to the entrance and looked around the corner. The room within was lit only by a trio of orange chemical lamps set near the walls. The loose, sedimentary stone that made up the cavern was supported by hydraulic joists, and the cavern walls showed the concentric marks of excavation tools.

Looming in the center of the cavern, a basalt-black four-sided pyramid dominated the room, its bulk disappearing into the stone floor. In the shadow of the structure, some kind of terminal had been set up, connected by cables to several larger units close to the wall. The terminal's display was lit, but there was nothing at all familiar about the blue-green glyphs that filled the screen.

"Shepard," Thane said into his comm unit, "I believe I've found what you're looking for."

"Okay, I'm on my way. Stay clear of it."

It wasn't too difficult an order to follow. The was something unsettling about the plain black form that devoured the room's meager light. Still, the scrawled symbols flowing across the terminal's holo-projection were intriguing. They didn't fit any script Thane could recall ever having seen, even with a drell's natural gift for language.

Within two minutes, Commander Shepard rounded the corner, her turian shadow in tow. Thane stepped back to allow them to pass. Shepard stowed her shotgun on her back and approached the terminal, while Garrus stood back. Thane came up beside him, watching with growing curiosity. Presumably, there were those who found value in so ancient and plain an edifice, but the assassin had little cause before now to pay them any mind. But the way Shepard tapped the terminal suggested that she, of all people, understood something about it that was lost even on the archeologists.

"Can you make any sense of it, Shepard?" Garrus asked.

She tapped the glowing sigils. "Not really, but I think-"

A deep, resonant thump pulsed through the air, pushing against Thane's limbs in a wash of pressure. A distorted glow appeared around Shepard, lifting her into the air. Thane took a step forward in alarm, only to find his arm locked in a vice-like hold. He looked down to see the turian's taloned hand gripping him.

"It's doing something to Shepard!" the assassin snapped.

The commander's body was rigid, quivering, as if transfixed by some unseen force. The ambient dark energy fields in the room seemed to hum in Thane's nerves.

"No. Wait." The turian's eyes glittered in the amber light. "Disturbing it now is only more dangerous."

Had the turian expected this? A few seconds later, the shimmering field dissipated and Shepard dropped heavily to the ground, falling to one knee. Garrus released his grip on the drell and walked forward, skirting around as if to see her face. He held out a hand, which she accepted after a moment and stood.

A chill feeling crept up Thane's back, the sense that he'd just witnessed something, if not profound, at least deeply mysterious. As if the Lady of Secrets herself had passed through the room.

The turian stepped back, as if he too respected what had happened. "Was it like the others?" he asked.

Shepard drew a long breath. "I think so. They're never all that clear. But this was a Prothean planet, once."

"Prothean?" Thane asked, trying to contain his bewilderment.

The commander turned to him. "Yes, this was a Prothean building. They left messages, warnings really, scattered through their empire. But only a handful have survived the years, and those that did are damaged, distorted, and not especially hospitable for non-Prothean minds. The man in the med-bay probably got the brunt of the message, and he wasn't ready for it."

"Yet you seem unharmed."

Shepard smirked and tapped the side of her helmet. "I have... the translation code. Sort of."

A burst of distant gunfire echoed through the door, bouncing hollowly off the stone walls, then fell silent.

"Zaeed!" Shepard said into her comms. "What's going on?"

"All clear," came the unruffled response.

The commander glanced at Garrus and Thane. "Come on, we better go check this out."

She turned and jogged out of the room, pulling her SMG off her hip. Thane followed as they snaked through the rough-cut passages back toward the light of the main chamber. As they emerged on the upper level, Thane caught sight of a batarian Blue Sun across the room, closely shadowed by Zaeed. The scarred mercenary was herding the unarmed batarian with pointed strikes of his gun butt. The alien stumbled, shrinking from Zaeed's frequent reminders of his mortality.

"Found us a stray." The merc wore a satisfied smirk. "Hiding in the bay where they were storing the digger. Maybe_ he'll_ answer some questions..."

With a shove, he sent the batarian stumbling to the ground. The alien rolled and looked up at the three of them descending the ramp, and his four black eyes widened.

"You're... you're_ Shepard_, aren't you?" he burst out.

The commander regarded the batarian with a flinty stare. "What of it?"

The merc clutched his head and whimpered. "You're supposed to be dead. They said you were _dead_."

"And I'm going to kill you, because you're a batarian, is that it?"

Zaeed gave an irritated grunt. He grabbed the batarian under the arm and none too gently dragged him to his feet, spinning him around. "You _should_ be worried about _me_."

"W-who're you?"

The human merc's gun came around in a shallow arc, cracking the batarian across the jaw. The alien flopped back to the ground. Scarred face twisted in frustration, Zaeed kicked the batarian in the stomach.

"I'm the reason _you_ should never have been wearing those colors, four-eyed slime! Where's Santiago?"

There was no answer but a whimper. Zaeed raised his heavy boot.

"I don't know!" the Blue Sun choked.

Zaeed kicked him again, sending the Sun sprawling. His kinetic barrier flickered, as if unsure of the low-velocity impact. The human mercenary stalked after him. "Don't piss me off, batarian, or you'll have a lot more to worry about than Shepard! What were you doing here?"

The batarian coughed and squirmed. "I... I came here with Lieutenant Locke. He was in command!"

"I saw messages between Locke and a Doctor Farrin," Shepard said. "The Blue Suns were hired as a guard detail. But I'm guessing Locke changed the deal."

Curiously, she appeared to Thane to be keeping herself within striking distance of Zaeed. The turian, for his part, had adopted an air of callous indifference as he idly adjusted something on his rifle.

The batarian tried to push himself up to a sitting position, backing away from Zaeed. "Wasn't... Locke. We had orders from the top. Secure the artifacts and the data."

Zaeed shook his head, disgust crossing his face. "Goddamn Vido, always looking for the quick score. Doesn't appreciate how bad it is for business when you kill your sodding customers! Out with it, four-eyes! Where's Santiago?"

"I don't know."

Shepard took a step toward the batarian. Under her helmet, her face was set in an icy mask.

The effect was immediate. "I don't know!" the batarian repeated in a shrill voice. "Santiago's got some private thing going on! All we got were commands for the ExoGeni job! It was Narom, Captain Narom who squeezed the info out of the ExoGeni rep, then we got orders from Santiago to grab the artifacts."

"Where?" Zaeed snapped.

"Sanctum! Decoris system. We... we've been shaking down freighters..."

Zaeed's face twisted into a smirk as he glowered at the trembling batarian. "Guess that's all _you're_ good for..."

He raised his rifle, only to find Shepard's hand suddenly on it, holding the muzzle away from the batarian. Zaeed looked at the commander, his face betraying brief surprise at her strength.

"He'll warn Vido," Zaeed growled, tugging on his gun.

"That's possible," she said. "But you've been gunning for Santiago's head for a long time, this won't change anything. Anyway, there's something he's going to do first."

The batarian blinked rapidly, his body shifting with uncertain tension.

"What's your name?" Shepard asked. She released Zeed's rifle and moved deliberately between them. She gestured for the batarian to stand.

The alien climbed to his feet. "Uh... Chenz." He wrung his hands together, eyes downcast.

"Your comrade in the med-bay. The artifact did that to him, didn't it?"

Chenz nodded, licking his lips nervously. "K- Kenna... our team's programmer. He was in there all day, every day since we got here, trying to crack the archaeologists' files. About eight hours ago, I was patrolling outside when I saw a flash and... well, he stumbled out babbling a bunch of gibberish. Hasn't stopped since."

Shepard nudged the muzzle of her submachine gun under the batarian's chin, raising the alien's gaze to meet hers.

"This is what you're going to do. You're going to put your friend on your shuttle, and you're going to take him to a colony called Feros, in the Attican Beta cluster."

Chenz eyed the weapon pressed against his throat. "Wh- why?"

"There's someone there who _might_ be able to help him. But you're going to have to ask nicely. Shiala is an experienced asari commando, so if you decide to try and let your gun do the talking, she'll pop you like a grape."

"She can fix him?" For a moment, he seemed to forget about the gun on him.

"I don't know." Shepard pulled her weapon back, lowering it to her side. "But of anyone I know, she's got the best chance."

"Well... And after that?" Chenz eyed Zaeed, who glared back with his mismatched eyes.

"I don't care." Shepard shrugged. "But if I see you in that uniform again, and you're in my way, you'll die. Are we clear?"

Chenz nodded vigorously, his head cocking slightly to the left as he backed away, a batarian gesture Thane recognized as obeisance to someone of a higher caste. The Sun turned, and with one last glance at Shepard, fled toward the makeshift medical bay.

"The hell do you expect that to accomplish?" Zaeed said. "If he even goes to Feros at all, he'll end up back in the Suns again. Just another merc between me and Vido."

"Maybe, maybe not." Shepard shrugged again. "He has a chance."

Zaeed snorted. "Mercy's wasted on this lot."

The mercenary turned away, and likely missed the shadow that passed across her expression. The medical bay door opened again and Doctor Solus emerged, crossing the room to join them. He tapped at his omni-tool in an absent-minded way before closing the display.

"Curious. Must inquire," Solus said, fixing Shepard with his large-eyed stare. "Reason for sending patient to Feros? Long way, colony perhaps... unsuitable for medical treatment."

Shepard holstered her weapon. "It's sort of a long story. But the man, Kenna? He's that way because of contact with a Prothean message beacon the archaeologists found in the tunnels. I don't think standard medical treatments are going to help him."

"Hm. Elevated delta-wave activity suggests acute neurological event. Supports theory of contact with alien communication device. Not heard of this 'Shiala'. Practitioner of asari healing techniques?"

Shepard shifted her weight, her expression distant. Even though the effect was far less dramatic, there was a curious similarity to a drell in the throes of memory.

"No. The Protheans seemed to be able to transmit knowledge directly to each others' minds, but we aren't equipped to process it properly. Shiala is the... carrier of certain knowledge from the Protheans that might help the programmer untangle his mind."

"Unconventional," Solus said. "But perhaps... best course, under present circumstances."

Thane kept his face impassive as he regarded Shepard with guarded curiosity. She must carry this Prothean knowledge as well, to be able to withstand the message, but how had a soldier come by such a thing? He reminded himself that she had also been a Spectre.

Zaeed returned his assault rifle to the clip on the back of his battered armor. "You don't strike me as the type to take such an interest in old alien vids, Shepard."

"I wasn't given a lot of choice in the matter," she replied. "Two years ago, Saren attacked Eden Prime to get his hands on one of the same beacons. I got... exposed to it during the mission. Put me out for fifteen hours. The one here was similar, and it showed me something new- a Collector."

"They really are working with the Reapers," Garrus said.

Shepard sighed. "There were signs on Horizon. The glowing Collectors that spoke to us-"

"Energy signatures and speech patterns suggest single entity," Doctor Solus interjected. "Aggressive tissue destruction upon death, possible nano activity. All point to control of individual by outside force..."

"Yes, well, I've seen that phenomenon once before."

"Saren," the turian said.

She nodded. "When Sovereign incarnated itself into Saren, he glowed like that. He spoke like that, the same monotone, the same cold arrogance. Sovereign was a Reaper."

"'Reaper'?" Zaeed said in a skeptical tone.

"Sovereign was a sentient machine, one of many like it that destroys sentient life in the galaxy on a cyclical basis. The Reapers wiped out the Protheans, fifty thousand years ago, and it seems like we're due for another cleansing. By attacking the Citadel, Sovereign was trying to bring in its brethren. We managed to stop them. I can only guess they're none too pleased about it."

A moment of silence stretched out, as if those assembled were trying to decide if they believed what had been said with deceptive ease. Even the verbose Doctor Solus stood silent, arms folded, hand to his face in a gesture of thought. Only the turian seemed unfazed.

"_That_ wasn't in my contract," the mercenary said.

"Wasn't what I signed up for either. But here we are."

"Why do we not know more of this?" Thane asked. "Surely the Citadel would act on this threat."

"The Citadel prefers its own version of the truth," the turian said in tone of caustic disgust. "The one that denies the Reapers are even real."

"Typical," Zaeed grunted.

"Right now, the Collectors are the problem," Shepard said, straightening. "But they're tied to the Reapers somehow. I suspected it after Horizon, but now I know for sure. The only question now is _how_. And sad as it is, Cerberus is the only organization taking the Reaper threat seriously. Come on, let's get out of here."

As the others turned to leave, Thane surveyed the scene, the bodies of the dead. He realized it had not merely been his body here, but that _he_ had borne witness to Shepard's connection to this ancient artifact, listened to this proclamation of the terrible evil stalking the entire galaxy. It seemed too awesome to be real... and yet, he'd now witnessed the effort and money spent on defying it. Shepard appeared to believe it absolutely.

No, no mere soldier. There was far more to this human than he'd ever imagined. He clasped his hands and bowed his head.

_Kalihira, Lady of Oceans, as your tides smooth the stone, smooth this tired soul of the evil it has wrought this day._


	13. Every Detail

Writing reports was perhaps the least glamorous part of Miranda's job as the lead Cerberus operator of the Lazarus cell. Still, she took a certain amount of pride in it. The Illusive Man expected regular updates on their mission. She knew that EDI sent him information from their internal monitoring network, but he still expected her report as project leader. The quiet of the evening hours, after shift-change, gave her the time to think.

Control was a delicate balancing act. Miranda was used to commanding a cell of humans, a task she was suited to in no small part because of her father's strict instruction. But introducing aliens and humans not already loyal to Cerberus into the mix added a host of new difficulties. On top of that, Miranda had to make sure that Shepard kept the illusion of control herself. The leash had to be long enough that she didn't notice its presence- the Illusive Man wanted to be sure Shepard's unique talents were being used to their fullest in defense of humanity. Miranda's job was to make sure that happened, _within _the auspices of Cerberus.

In an idle moment, Miranda wondered what it would be like if they could have crewed more of the ship with the simple efficiency of shackled AIs. But she quickly stilled the thought. An AI would only work within established parameters. For all their flaws, it was the unpredictable flashes of brilliance that made humans great as a whole. Every person on the _Normandy_ had earned their place through exceptional skill, culled from every corner of humanity's expanding holdings. But as always, brilliance came with eccentricities, the quirks of personality that marked those who stood out from the ordinary. The many monitoring devices all over the ship gave her the means to keep an eye on the entire crew, and to locate and address issues before they became problems.

Not that everything went smoothly. Shortly after Doctor Solus' arrival, several monitoring bugs in his lab had gone dark. A day later, Solus had arrived in her office bearing the small case of a pinhole multi-spectrum camera, which he had deposited on her desk without so much as a hint of displeasure, then returned to work.

Control was a trial sometimes, and Miranda was realizing she had to let some things go. Perhaps it was arrogant to expect to hide monitoring devices from a brilliant former STG operative. Or there was the fact that Shepard avoided wearing any of the Cerberus uniforms she had been provided. One day she'd appeared in the fatigues Miranda had assumed she would be most comfortable in- except the Cerberus logo had been neatly removed from the shoulders. The message was clear, but in the end Miranda decided it was best to leave Shepard her minor rebellion.

There was still the issue of the krogan youth. The creature, though physically perfect, was little more than a child, no more worldly than the cloned 'failures' that had been roaming Korlus for Blue Suns' target practice. While it was still in the tank, Miranda had considered having it terminated. But Okeer's claim that it was a result of Collector technologies made it more appealing to be kept in stasis for study. Collector technology was far too rare to discard out of hand. Miranda had been formulating suggestions for possible Cerberus facilities to drop off their find to when Shepard had gone down to the cargo hold and woken it up.

While reviewing the footage of the tank opening, Miranda had almost shouted at the holodisplay. The newly awoken krogan had charged straight at Shepard and almost snapped her neck. The Cerberus Operative had been trained since birth to control her emotions, but Shepard seemed determined to strain that hard-won discipline at every opportunity. Why the commander drained the tank without an armed escort was debatable at best. Did she not _realize_ that between the resurrection costs and the implants, she was more valuable than the _ship_? Certainly moreso than the potential risk to a few members of the security team. There had been a tense standoff, including several death threats and a live pistol, and despite everything, 'Grunt' had agreed to fight with Shepard, conditional that her enemies were 'worthy'. And Miranda had searched her mirror for traitorous gray hairs.

Now, the clone was free, wandering around and harassing Gardner for food at every available opportunity. The krogan had even threatened Hawthorne when the crewman had gone to Port Cargo to retrieve some equipment, and Hawthorne had been forced to flee. Shepard seemed mostly unperturbed, but for the pointed order that the crew stay out of Grunt's 'territory' when at all possible. As if having the sociopathic biotic lurking down in Heat Control wasn't bad enough, now anything stored in Port Cargo was a trial to access unless the krogan could be lured away for a time.

At least Massani, Krios and the turian were of a more even temperament. The taciturn mercenary was content to keep to himself in the bowels of the ship, and Vakarian kept busy between the gun batteries and the armory, tinkering with both his gear and the ship's. The drell assassin spoke little, but the Illusive Man seemed confident of his professionalism. Miranda had a great deal of appreciation for people who did what they were paid to do without getting underfoot.

The door chime pinged. Without looking up from her work, Miranda touched the icon that opened the door, admitting Yeoman Chambers. A minute ahead of their scheduled meeting time- nothing if not enthusiastic.

"Chambers," Miranda greeted her. "Have a seat."

The yeoman sat down and smoothed her uniform. "How are you, Miss Lawson?"

Miranda stopped typing, quelling a flicker of irritation. Chambers' effusive friendliness was part of the reason she was good at her job. She could get places with the crew Miranda herself couldn't.

"I'm fine, just trying to get this finished up. Do you have anything new to report?"

"Well, yesterday I heard that Xian and Patel might be getting more than friendly. Rolston thinks it's cute, but-"

Miranda half-listened as Chambers prattled on about the latest shipboard gossip. One of the lessons her father had taught her was that she could expect to have as much success curtailing human tendencies as she would stopping a planetary orbit. Better, he said, to understand and use them. Her own appearance was due in no small part to this belief. While there was plenty that she resented about her upbringing, she could admit the value of many of his lessons.

"Is the krogan settling in?" Miranda asked once the gossip seemed to be losing some steam. "He seemed agitated after returning from Horizon."

"Excitement, I think," Chambers replied. "He seems very happy to have gotten a chance to fight. He's kind of cute, in a way. Like a child."

"A very strong, murderous child," Miranda reminded her, "with an encyclopedic knowledge of weapons and fighting tactics."

"He's taken his warrior... 'imprints' very much to heart. He seems to think he's incomplete without strong enemies as a barometer of his own prowess. I think it was a good idea for Shepard to take him to Horizon. He got to fight the Collectors firsthand."

"If that keeps him in line."

On one hand, she'd been unhappy that Shepard had left her off the Horizon ground team. Fighting the Reapers, and by extension the Collectors, had been the primary reason she'd devoted years of her life to the Lazarus project. Her pride wanted her to be there on the front line to see her project doing its intended job. But she'd also never relished field work, it was the messy side of being a Cerberus agent she preferred to avoid. And going planetside to fight an unknown enemy with untested protections against their swarms of paralytic bugs didn't exactly excite her. At least Doctor Solus' countermeasure appeared to work.

Miranda tabbed through her report. "How is Goldstein handling the Horizon attack?"

"I think he's glad to be on the _Normandy_, because he feels like he's doing something to fight back. It gives him something to focus on. We're having a lot of trouble getting an accurate account of the losses the colony sustained. The lack of information about his friends is the hardest thing for him to deal with."

"And the rest of the crew?"

"Well, losing half the colony was terrible, but it _was_ progress. It's created some positive momentum. The Collectors don't seem so unbeatable anymore."

Miranda was not privy to all the details, but it was clear to her that the Illusive Man had somehow managed to lure to Collectors to Horizon. Possibly by using the presence of another of Shepard's former crew...

"We have to keep that momentum up," Miranda said. "Did you review the video logs I sent you regarding Garrus Vakarian?"

"Yes. He gets along well with Shepard, but he seems distracted; I get the feeling he's going to have to address his issues with this Sidonis."

Miranda nodded. She'd already sent a request to the Illusive Man to look into the turian who'd been one of Vakarian's partners for some time on Omega. While it was tempting to arrange an 'accident' for Sidonis and render the point moot, the risk of more complications arising from such an action was just too great. Vakarian was a former C-Sec investigator and a survivor of Omega's vicious underworld- he could probably smell suspicious circumstances no matter how clean the job. No, better to feed him a morsel of information and let him deal with it himself.

"Has EDI had any success with his omni-tool?" Chambers asked.

"No, I put a stop to the intrusion attempts. She could do it, but he has too many safeguards in place, and his value to the mission is too high to risk him finding out."

A pity, too. Given that Vakarian had been present during Shepard's fight against Saren, he might have had a great deal of interesting information, including records of Shepard's previous contacts with Cerberus cells.

"Incredibly good luck that he worked with Shepard before," the yeoman mused. "Maybe it'll help her come around."

Perhaps it shouldn't have come as a surprise that one of the commander's former allies had appeared on the Illusive Man's short list of potential recruits. Miranda typed a few more notes into her report, letting Chambers fidget for a moment before continuing.

"Have you had a chance to talk to Hadley since the last meeting?"

"No, but Tanner- uh, Matthews seems to think he's doing better."

"I've been debating giving him leave, so he won't be a disruptive element," Miranda said. "But at this point, the leave might be permanent. We have to focus on our primary goals, and we may not have time to pick him up again later. We need him functional."

Chambers shook her head. "I don't think that will be necessary. He's in a bit of the same place as Goldstein. I think that being on board and helping to fight the Collectors will help him deal with his grief."

Miranda sat forward, lacing her fingers together on her desk. "And Shepard?"

Chambers' face screwed up in a brief expression of frustration. "I'm not making a lot of headway. She talks to me, even asked me a bit about myself, but she avoids anything to do with her. I suggested she call me Kelly, just to try to break the ice, but I don't think that went over well."

"Too soon?"

"Maybe. She appears to be more comfortable with military naming formalities, but I would also hypothesize that she's... keeping us at arm's length. Her profile states that in the past, she nurtured a good relationship with her crew. But I think the higher up we are in Cerberus, the less she's willing to get personal."

"Not surprising, I suppose."

"Jacob might be an exception, though. They have Alliance service and a biotic history in common, and she seems more willing to engage with him. She's already approached the drell and even Grunt quite openly."

Miranda smirked. Shepard had come to talk to her, as well. The Cerberus operative had volunteered a few things about her own past, thinking it might help foster a measure of understanding between the two of them. There was an element of pure curiosity, as well. While the former Spectre had been a lifeless mannequin in her lab, it had been easy to dismiss Shepard's rumored ability to influence others as reactive hero worship. But even in their brief conversation, Shepard had said... unexpected things.

Miranda put the incident out of her mind.

"I'm not convinced that Shepard is adjusting as fast as we'd like," Chambers went on, her brows drawn down in an expression of concern. "But she's very good at masking her feelings and projecting her command persona."

"Has there been any further fallout from the Horizon confrontation?"

"From what I heard of the Alchera audio logs, she's angry, but she seems determined to process it on her own terms. She didn't even talk to Joker about it."

Alchera had seemed like a waste of time, but Miranda had kept her objections to herself. Instead, she was hopeful it would help the commander put her former life behind her once and for all. The confrontation with Commander Alenko on Horizon had been unexpected. The audio logs seemed to indicate their relationship had been more than professional; yet another potential complication. Ultimately, Alenko's negative reaction to Cerberus would benefit them. The faster Shepard could be freed of her old attachments, the better.

"And the Alchera trip?" Miranda asked.

"I think Shepard and Joker have more or less resolved any outstanding issues between them. Joker is still exhibiting more avoidance than acceptance, but based on his profile, it's more or less normal. I don't think it will negatively impact his performance."

"Now if we could just curtail Moreau's bickering with EDI."

"I don't think we should."

Miranda raised an eyebrow.

"I think... well, I think he enjoys it," Chambers went on. "Joker's issues with authority aren't going to just go away, but I think EDI gives him an outlet for it. A human crewman might get offended or angry, but EDI won't let it impact her performance."

"I suppose so," Miranda said, though she couldn't help but be skeptical. "Well, I think that covers everything. I won't keep you."

"Before I go, do you really think we should just leave Jack all alone down there? That can't be healthy..."

Miranda sat back. "I think 'Jack' has a rather skewed view of what constitutes healthy interaction."

"But she was in that horrible prison! She needs to see that not everyone is like that Kuril and his guards."

"Just _why_ do you think she was imprisoned in the first place?"

Chambers shifted, frowning. "I know, Miss Lawson," she said after a moment. "I just can't help but want to try to do something. Heat Control wasn't meant to be someone's quarters."

Neither was Starboard Cargo and Waste Disposal, which Massani had moved into without complaint.

"It's private, that's what it is," Miranda stated, tugging absently on her sleeve. "If she approaches_ you_, then talk. Otherwise, let Shepard be the one to try. Jack is dangerous, and she can't be disarmed in the conventional sense. I can't risk her hurting any of the crew."

The yeoman sighed and nodded. "I suppose you're right." She stood up and smiled. "Good night, Miss Lawson."

Miranda nodded in return. "Good night, Chambers."

The younger woman turned and left. As the door closed, Miranda added a few more notes to her report, trying to smooth away the frown that kept trying to creep onto her face. Chambers was an issue all on her own. Her job as Shepard's assistant provided a useful cover to keep her close to the commander, to keep tabs on Shepard's mental state. As such, she was certainly a valuable member of the overall strategy of the Lazarus project. But the fact remained that unlike the rest of the crew, Chambers had been chosen not by Miranda, but by the Illusive Man himself. Miranda couldn't quite escape the feeling that Chambers had been hired to keep watch on _everyone_. The Cerberus Operator didn't like being second-guessed.

Miranda sat back and rubbed her eyes. She'd been staring at the holodisplay for too long, trying to make everything perfect. Trying to think everything through, arrange all the various threads, and anticipate all possibilities. She stood up, skirted her desk and stepped out into the _Normandy_'s crew area, which was blissfully quiet at this hour. Gardner had retreated to bed, leaving the mess quiet but for the hum of the ship. She went into the small kitchen area, withdrew a mug from the storage cupboards and put it under the hot water spigot.

"Working late?"

Miranda turned to see Jacob standing by the mess table.

"Always," Miranda replied. She touched the button, letting the steaming water fill the mug.

He chuckled softly. "I'll never understand how you survive on five hours of sleep."

"Must be genetics," she said with wan humor.

"I'm going to go with rabid perfectionism, myself."

She hesitated for a moment, then reached into the fridge and helped herself to a small square of brownie that Gardner had shoved into the back for tomorrow. She closed the door and shot Jacob a challenging look.

"There, a minor violation. You can write me up, if you like."

Jacob held up a hand. "No way. That would mean more work, and I'm off duty as of an hour ago."

Miranda allowed herself a small laugh, picking up the mug of water. "Far be it from me to get between you and your decadent seven hours."

"Good night, then."

"Good night, Jacob."

Back in her quarters, Miranda opened the seal on a tin of tea and deposited one teabag into the mug of water. Sitting back down at her desk, she nibbled the brownie as she contemplated the holodisplay. She was grateful the Illusive Man had allowed her to keep Jacob on after the debacle at Lazarus station. Whatever his feelings for Cerberus, he'd served the project for two years with a competence that was not to be dismissed. Simple stability sometimes seemed to be in short supply on this mission.

Perhaps she could find a way to reward that dedication. Money was not an issue, but there was always what Miranda considered far more valuable- information.


	14. Chapter 14

This had been a quarian colony, once. Not a large or important one, but it was the first time Tali had ever stood on a world with so much intact quarian architecture. She wished she could have had the time to take it all in. Until that day, all she'd ever seen of quarian worlds were holos and recordings. Now she stood on streets once walked by her own people, without suits and masks, free and open.

The geth cared nothing for Tali's curiosity. Her suit dimmed some of the deafening boom as a rocket slammed into the rockcrete wall she leaned against. Dust showered down around her.

"Tali!" Kal'Reegar shouted from across the gap between them. "Move!"

She twisted in time to see a massive crack travel to the top of the piling, and with a creak, the slab of structure peeled away and toppled toward her. Tali jumped back just in time as it hit the ground at her feet and shattered.

Her suit whined a penetrating warning tone. She'd been forced back into the scalding sun, and the magnetic shielding she'd laced into her kinetic barriers was already starting to overload. The sun's merciless rays beat into her back as she gripped her shotgun to her and sprinted across the plaza, vaulting over a piece of low-slung geth architecture and slipping into the shadow it cast.

It hadn't rained on Haestrom in centuries. The fighting kicked up a haze of thin dust, scattering the geth head-lights into long flares refracted in her visor.

"Gunnar! Get that damn trooper on the left side!" Kal barked over the roar of his rifle.

"My gun, it won't- it's fried!" the marine shouted back, a twist of panic lacing his voice.

Tali leaned out of cover. She saw the marine digging furiously at the cowl of his assault rifle, stealing glances over his cover at the advancing geth. The buzz of geth communication bursts filled the space between gunshots, tracing itself in a feed of frequencies and intensity in the right side of Tali's HUD. There was no translating their chatter- their complex encryption changed every few seconds.

"Get out of there!" Kal snapped. He thumbed a grenade into the launch rail, then took aim, blowing a hole in the geth trooper approaching Gunnar's position. The marine commander ducked just in time as a rocket raced past his head.

But there were too many of them. A screech of pain echoed over the comms as the geth overwhelmed the defenseless Gunnar'Vol.

"Bosh'tet nazrash!" Kal swore. "Ano, Lier, retreat to my position! I'll cover you!"

Tali pushed a specialized tech grenade into the launch rail under her shotgun. Several geth energy signatures were within range. A quick voice command to her onboard computer picked out the larger energy signatures, displaying them in colored overlays in her visor. One of the red-bodied geth armed with the high-explosive shots was angling around on their left, attempting to flank the quarians' position. Tali scooted along her cover and fired at her target.

The geth froze in place as Tali's algorithm initiated its brute-force attack on the geth's systems. Hacking a geth's quantum blue box, the center of its intelligence, was futile. But other functions were vulnerable to disruption, including, as Tali had discovered, their friend-foe identification. A geth 'body' in combat mode seemed to default all targets to 'foe' unless otherwise specified, so a disruption to its 'friend' list would cause it to switch to the closest threat- other geth.

The red-bodied destroyer swiveled and fired at the trooper next to it, sending the smaller geth sprawling in a spray of white conductive fluid. The geth around it reacted, shifting to accommodate the new threat. Tali took advantage of the momentary confusion to gun down another trooper that moved into her line of fire. But the hack lasted only a few seconds before the shared geth network located the fault and corrected it.

With the cool detachment of a machine, her HUD informed her of a large element zero mass coming into resolution, along with several smaller ones. The small swarm was airborne. Another throaty boom echoed around the plaza, and Lier'Greeta's transponder vanished from Tali's HUD in a flash of red. A sick feeling climbed up Tali's throat; it was Freedom's Progress all over again, but this time she couldn't blame any of it on Prazza's stupid burst of poor judgment. Over the sun-bleached pilings, Tali caught sight of the shoulder-vanes of a huge geth stalking across the plaza.

"Keelah..." she breathed, before raising her voice. "Kal! Prime coming up from the right!"

A swarm of hovering drones crested the pilings, sweeping wide and right. The ground danced in puffs of dust as their mounted guns began firing. Another flank. Tali pulled a primed overload charge off her belt and flung it toward them before jumping up and running, not pausing to see how many drones she may have caught in the grenade's electric blast. Her shields crackled with impacts, the magnetic dampener whining like a fretful child in her ear.

The impact of a rocket explosion sent her stumbling. Just as she thought she'd end up flat on her face, an arm looped under her shoulder and dragged her up, pulling her into cover. Resplendent in his armored red suit, missile launcher poking up over his shoulder, Kal'Reegar still managed to convey a stubborn calm against the storm.

"Ma'am." Kal said, glancing around their hiding place. "Get to the collector array. You got a straight run now. That door will take a beating before anyone gets through."

"I won't leave you out here!" Tali insisted, angrily venting her shotgun's heat load.

Kal turned to her. "We'll do our job, ma'am. Go do yours!"

Tali hissed a number of uncomplimentary things. He was right, of course. None of this would mean anything if they failed to get the data. _A thousand curses on duty, on a weak magnetosphere, and on geth!_

Kal moved, and a moment later there was the thump of an explosion.

"Go now!" he shouted, waving her on.

Tali jumped up and ran, dodging between storage crates to the ramp leading up the side of the plaza. Pulse rifle rounds whined through the searing air as she rounded the corner onto a ramp leading up a level to the open bay door. Above her, the geth-constructed collector array spread into the sky, following Dholen's harsh glare.

There was a flash of red in her HUD as another marine died. Fighting tears of frustration, Tali slapped her palm against the door panel. The geth must have repaired the door at some point in their installation of the array- drawing power from some unknown source, the huge portal ground closed with a thud.

"Stay alive, Kal," she muttered, uploading an algorithm to the door lock that would override the geth code.

She turned and ran up the stairs to the terminal set into the back wall of the dimly-lit chamber. The geth had stripped Haestrom of every bit of useful material, then installed their own technology. The quarians' scans had picked up the presence of the geth collector array from orbit. They, too, were studying Dholen's premature death.

A distant impact shook the ancient architecture, raining down dust from the beams overhead. Tali clasped her hands over the terminal holodisplay, trying to still the trembling that threatened to seep into her movements. The door held. She took a quick sip of water from her suit's filtration catchpockets. It was brackish, a symptom of the stresses she and her suit had both been under for the past day and a half, but it was still a relief to her dry mouth. There wasn't time to wallow in her fears. She set to work, sifting through the data captured by the massive collector array outside.

She'd known this mission would be dangerous- an expedition to a geth world. It was an honor to be chosen to lead such a mission, given by the Admiralty and accompanied by a squad of marines, but the honor had since been scorched away by ugly reality. They'd been spotted by a patrol ship, and troop carriers soon followed. This was no isolated cadre, either- there were thousands of geth in the orbital stations above Haestrom. Tali had seen death many times before, but somehow, watching her own people get gunned down by geth was terrible in a way unmatched by any of the galaxy's cavalcade of horrors. No quarian was expendable, every one counted and cared for in the roll of the Migrant's Fleet's population.

Another distant explosion shook the walls. The intermittent timing of the impacts gave her hope- Kal must have still been out there if the geth couldn't focus consistent effort on breaking in. The loss of life on Freedom's Progress had been Prazza's fault more than hers, but she still felt as responsible as she did here. The trip to the human colony should have been routine, the worst danger they faced the usual poor reception a quarian group was bound to receive arriving at a grounder colony. Instead, they rescued one at the cost of four other lives. Prazza, the poor fool, so spooked by the appearance of Cerberus agents that he threw himself into unnecessary danger, ignoring Tali's orders. Faced with those murderers, Tali might have made such a mistake herself, had she not been stunned into a more measured response by Shepard's sudden resurrection from beyond the Dark.

The information displayed in her visor's HUD flickered and sputtered. Her whole right side felt raw from having been forced to spend a few seconds too long exposed to Dholen's intense glare. Her suit's critical functions were well-shielded from the magnetic fields pulsing out of Haestrom's star, but the exposure had still played havoc with the carefully balanced support systems she relied on. As if the geth pounding on the door weren't bad enough.

"Can anyone hear this?"

Tali froze. The voice piped through her omni-tool, through a channel set up to their second regrouping waypoint on the far side of the plaza, a small room that may have once been a shop-front. But the voice... _No, impossible. I was in the sun too long._ With a trembling hand, she touched the response icon.

"Shepard?"

* * *

Being among the humans again took some getting used to. After the comfortable confines of the Migrant Fleet, their sheer nakedness was jarring. She was reminded of her pilgrimage, her first arrival at a Council-controlled station. The nakedness of the aliens all around her was unsettling, even horrifying. They touched each others' bare skin, breathed the same air, sneezed and bled and sweated into the same space. She had been warned, and she knew, on an intellectual level, that they could live comfortably like that. But up until her pilgrimage, her whole life had been experienced from within a suit, on a clean ship, and along with every other quarian, that was normal.

Later, she would learn that the unspoken lesson of the pilgrimage was to realize, in a more than intellectual sense, that the quarians' lot wasn't 'normal'. Considered politically divisive, this lesson wasn't often spoken of in plain terms among her people. But her father, who dreamed of seeing the homeworld again, was frank with his daughter about the danger of cultural complacency. When Tali had confessed to him the jealousy she felt for the simple act of smelling a well-cooked meal, her father had nodded and said only "good". The pilgrimage was a harsh lesson in the truth of the wider galaxy- living in fear of a single breath wasn't any way to live at all. They had to retake the homeworld.

Tali glanced sideways at the Cerberus engineers at the terminals across the gantry to her right. They seemed pleasant enough, and dedicated to their jobs. The man, Donnelly, smiled readily and talked even more, about anything and everything that seemed to cross his mind. Daniels, the woman, seemed to make a sport out of criticizing and chiding her compatriot. They bickered with the familiar ease of siblings. But the Cerberus logos on their shoulders made Tali's skin creep every time she saw it. They were such affable, normal people- how could they not see what kind of organization they were working for?

_Couldn't Shepard?_

"Tali."

She turned to find the commander herself standing behind her.

"Shepard!" Tali exclaimed. "I was so absorbed in my work, I didn't hear you come in."

"Do you have a minute to talk? There was something I wanted to ask you."

"Of course."

Tali hesitated for a moment, then gestured for Shepard to follow her down the gantry toward the drive core. Out of sight of the Cebersus engineers, Tali stopped and turned to face the resurrected commander. Shepard looked at her askance.

"At our current rate of acceleration, this is about the point at which the field from the drive core meets the dampeners," Tali said, keeping her voice low. "The field resonance has the side effect of suppressing sound waves. Where you're standing, your back is to the camera, and well, they'll have a hard time reading my lips."

Shepard smiled. "You're a treasure."

"I... well, thank you." Tali shifted, absently rubbing her hands together. The nakedness of humans made their expressions a little overwhelming at first, provoking an almost voyeuristic feeling of intrusion. She had to fight the urge to look away. After her pilgrimage and her time on the original _Normandy_, she knew the feeling would lessen with time. After a while, she would start to feel like _she_ was the one hiding something.

"How are you settling in?"

"Fine, it's nice to be back on the _Normandy_, but I miss the old faces. I wanted to ask, did... did Adams survive?"

Shepard shook her head. "They targeted our engines and the drive core. Adams helped get some of his crew out before the damage cut them off."

A chill feeling wormed through Tali's stomach. "I'm sorry," she murmured. "He was a good engineer, a good man."

"We lost a lot of good people that day."

Tali knew the person before her was more likely than anyone else she knew to understand the thoughts that had been gnawing on her since they escaped Haestrom, but the words still got caught in her throat.

"What is it?" Shepard asked.

"I just wish... I lost those marines on Haestrom, Shepard. I know, I _know_ that they were soldiers and they knew the risks, but..."

"That never makes it any easier."

"I keep thinking there's something I could have done. If we'd delayed our approach, or called it off earlier, or..."

"Tali. I know you did everything you could."

"That data better be worth it!" the quarian snapped, giving a sudden vent to the anger lurking in her chest alongside the grief. _Father, it better be worth those lives._

Shepard let the silence stretch out for a moment. "Are you going to be okay?"

"Yes." Tali hugged herself in a flush of self-consciousness. "Yes, I just need some time to think things through." _At least Kal survived._

Shepard folded her arms. "I wanted to talk to you about something you mentioned in the comm room. Can you tell me about the_ Idenna_?"

The quarian searched Shepard's scarred face. How much could she say? If Shepard really was with Cerberus, then she would already know about the incident. Unless she was trying to put Tali at ease. The quarian dismissed the thought with a quiet huff of frustration, lost in the constant air filtration in her mask. The person who had selflessly helped her gain invaluable data on the geth for her pilgrimage didn't deserve such suspicions.

"The captain of the _Idenna_ is named Ysin'Mal vas Idenna," Tali explained, "and he's something of a rebel among quarian captains. He thinks that we should give up wandering, find a new homeworld and start the process of adjusting to it.

"A human woman..." Tali checked her omni-tool. "Kahlee Sanders, that was her name. She arrived in a ship with a man and a girl named Gillian. The girl was a biotic, a very powerful one, but she was, well, there was something wrong with her mind, some sort of developmental issue. Sanders told us that Gillian had been part of a human biotic program, but that Cerberus had infiltrated it and was conducting experiments on the girl. Trying to make her even stronger."

Shepard frowned. "Doesn't _that_ sound familiar."

"They escaped from Cerberus and came to the flotilla, because it was the only place they could think of that couldn't be infiltrated by Cerberus agents. I think they were desperate. Captain Ysin'Mal heard that Sanders knew about what had happened on the Citadel, about the Reapers. He saw her information as valuable, so he invited her onto the _Idenna_. But Cerberus wanted Gillian back. They managed to acquire a Fleet docking code and attacked the Flotilla."

"A head-on attack?"

"More like a commando operation. They docked with the _Idenna_ using the stolen code, then attacked the inhabitants and planted explosives. But one of the humans tipped us off about the charges and we managed to save the ship and drive them off."

Shepard folded her arms, her eyes shifting elsewhere in thought. Once again, Tali caught the reflected glint of artificial retinas. That and the scars were startling and new, but based on what Garrus had said, a great deal of Shepard was 'new'. A new body, rebuilt like a new suit was built from spare parts. Did it feel as foreign? Did she have to break it in, make custom adjustments?

"... Shepard?"

"How many people died in the attack?" Shepard asked without looking up.

"Six marines, seventeen civilians, and fifty-three wounded. Twelve later died of infection from suit ruptures. Shrapnel-based grenades... any cut can be deadly."

Shepard didn't deserve suspicion, but that didn't do enough to dispel it from Tali's mind. That face, at once so familiar and so foreign, hid as much as it revealed. Something moved under the scars when she spoke. Tali was tempted to adjust the vision spectrum of her visor, but in truth she was a little afraid of what she'd see. The Shepard she knew, _thought_ she knew, wouldn't work with terrorists and murderers.

"Shepard," Tali said, lowering her voice again, "are you... sure of this?"

The human shifted her weight, meeting Tali's eyes through her visor. "Humans are being taken by the thousands and no one is doing anything about it. No one but us."

Shepard's arms dropped to her sides, and she looked away again. "But between us, no, not in the slightest. Thank you for telling me about what happened, I wanted to hear it from _you_ and not Lawson. I'll let you get back to your work. If you need anything, let me know."

"I will, Shepard."

The commander nodded in a distracted manner and turned to leave. Tali watched her go, leaning against the guard rail that ran along the gantry to the drive core's main control terminal. Since returning to the Flotilla, the heady days of her pilgrimage and the fight against Saren had started to feel further and further away. The shocking news of Shepard's death had only served to make them feel all the more surreal. She'd been convinced that those days would never come again, and had let the Migrant Fleet's endless supply of internal issues take her attention. She was an adult, she had responsibilities.

Tali looked up at the looming sphere of the drive core, so different than the SR-1. The attack on the _Idenna_ had been just one of many problems dogging the Migrant Fleet, problems the Admirals were taking pains to conceal from not only other species but from their own people. She had avoided telling Shepard just why Captain Ysin'Mal had been interested in what the Sanders woman had to say... about Reapers. Or that Cerberus had gained access to the Flotilla because of a quarian- a traitor.

As Tali ran an idle hand over the core's main terminal, she could hear Daniels and Donnelly arguing about something. On the original _Normandy_, a mutual love of engineering had helped her open up to a human for the first time. It should be the same for these two... but for the Cerberus logo they wore with seeming ease.

Tali sighed. _A thousand curses on secrets._


	15. No Equal

As the last klixen died, Grunt repeated Shaman Urdnot's words in his head. These were lessons, like Tank imprints, but nothing like Tank imprints. The Shaman had promised more than empty pictures, he'd promised meaning.

_First the krogan conquered Tuchanka... and mastered a natural world only we are fit to hold._

_Then the krogan were lifted to the stars to destroy the fears of a galaxy, an enemy only we could chase to their lairs._

"Damn, I wish I could make more things explode when I shoot'em!" Jack declared, sauntering up. "Boom!" She threw her arms wide with a laugh, shotgun rolling in her grip. The surly human seemed to be in an uncommon good humor.

Garrus plucked bits of scorched flesh off his armor between thumb and finger. "I'm fond of things that just roll over and die, myself. Without getting so much of themselves all over _me_."

He flicked the chunks into the pile of blackened bug piled close to them. Wisps of smoke spun away from the remains, flowing from what was left of several klixen scattered around the Keystone's wide stone dais.

Shepard nudged the chitin with her booted toe. "Reminds me of rachni. Except with the rachni, it was corrosive, not explosive."

"The klixen must generate some kind of reactive biochemical mixture that ignites on contact with oxygen," the turian mused. "Which works well enough as an attack, but less well when gunfire ruptures their storage sacks."

"Boom!" Jack chuckled.

Grunt cocked his head, eying Shepard. "The rachni are dead. We killed them for you."

"Us?" Shepard replied. "When the rachni wars ended, humans were still figuring out how to make an arch."

Grunt peered at the commander, uncomprehending. "But the rachni are extinct."

"Nearly."

"Shaman Urdnot would not lie," Grunt bristled. The heat of battle still simmered in his blood.

"He didn't. He's just misinformed. The galaxy is a big place, Grunt, bigger than any one person or species can wrap themselves around. Too big, sometimes."

"But-"

"C'mon, Grunt," Jack said, smacking the krogan's shoulder. "Are you going to complain about more ugly bugs to waste? Why let your ancestors have all the fun?"

He fingered his shotgun. "The Tank had many images of rachni, many glorious battles..." He drifted through the imprints. Before the Rebellions, before the genophage, the newly uplifted krogan were at the height of their glory, bathed in endless war.

"Activate the Keystone, Shepard," Grunt said. _ More. I'll prove myself._

"Check your sinks," Shepard said, then crossed the dais and shoved the heavy switch set into the back wall.

Above them, at the center of the Keystone, the cylindrical pile driver began to ascend, grating along the heavy steel tracks. Grunt's blood hummed with anticipation. He checked his supply of heat clips, then scanned the dais. Among the smoking corpses of klixen and varren, the dessicated remains of krogan lay here and there among the ruin. Failures, all of them. They were not krogan.

A voice boomed through unseen speakers, the guttural rumble of the nameless Urdnot shaman bounced off the structure's pyramidal supports. "Now, all krogan bear the genophage, our reward, our curse. It is a fight where the only goal is survival!"

Grunt heard the clank of the pile driver being released, and a second later it struck the Keystone's raised base with a sonorous boom that rattled the krogan's bones. For a moment, there was no sound but the wind and dying echoes of the impact. Then, a vibration shuddered through the stone at Grunt's feet.

"What fresh hell is this?" Jack quipped. Her face twisted into half a grin and half a challenging snarl.

"There!" Garrus pointed.

Grunt followed the turian's outstretched hand. Out in the rubble, a long, serpentine tentacle waved in the dusty air, split at the end and glowing a faint blue. Even at this distance, Grunt guessed it to be as high as four krogan. He heard Shepard make a choked noise, then the rubble at the edge of the dais exploded, borne upward in a plume of dust and broken concrete. A huge, serpentine body surged into the ashen sky, great scythe-like claws lashing the air as it twisted. A rush of imprint images flashed through Grunt's head. _Thresher Maw._ The ultimate survivor, scourge of a thousand worlds, devourer of creatures and machines alike.

Half-hidden in the dust, Grunt could make out the movement of massive muscles along its length as it twisted and came down, whip-like, claws extended to shadow the wan sunlight. The whole dais trembled under the impact as Shepard lunged back from the creature's slavering mouthparts, scrambling away toward the meager cover of the concrete risers along the dais' edge.

Grunt raised his shotgun and fired at the beast. He could hear the answering bark of Garrus' assault rifle impacting the thresher's carapace, sending pieces of chitin flying. The thresher seemed unperturbed. It pulled itself back, whipping its claws wide toward Grunt and the turian. Grunt jumped back just in time to avoid the scythelike blade as it dragged along the stone, kicking up chips from a wide gouge. The worm pulled itself back, sliding back down along its length before disappearing into its hole.

Huddled against the stone, Grunt could see that Shepard's face was ashen, her teeth bared as she hugged her gun to her chest.

_She's terrified._

The ground shuddered, vibrating through the stone at Grunt's feet. Plumes of dust shot out of the rubble as the creature burrowed underneath them. It surged back into the sky to Grunt's left, lashing its claws toward Jack. Grunt holstered his shotgun and pulled out his rifle as the painted human flung out an arm at the creature, enfolding its head in a whorl of dark energy. Grunt fired, trying to track the thresher's head as is lurched back from the biotic attack. Jack retreated toward the cover of a rusting metal antenna, and Garrus' sniper rifle boomed, chipping away a piece of chitin.

The fearsome worm lashed its head around, its tentacular mouthparts waving through the air as if to taste it. Grunt pulled himself into cover, peering around in time to see a muscular ripple travel up the thresher's thick body.

"Jack!" Garrus yelled. "Get out of there-"

A head-sized gobbet of viscous green slime splattered into the broken antenna, spattering the concrete. The painted human gave a screech of pain as tendrils of smoke rose from the steel spars. Even from across the dais, Grunt could hear the hiss of acid eating into the metal.

"Jack?" Shepard called.

The only answer was a stream of invective that blistered the air.

"Are you-"

"I'm fine," Jack snapped, "just another fucking mark, right?"

Across the dais, the metal spars squealed as they began to warp under their own weight. Jack jumped to her feet and ran. The thresher tensed, its eyeless maw tracking the sprinting human. Shepard leaned over her cover to fire several rounds of her heavy pistol at the thresher. More pieces of its carapace chipped away under the impacts, and the creatures flung itself around, trying to find the source of the new attack. Jack slid into cover behind a low concrete wall. A trio of red streaks ran across her left shoulder and across her bare back, trailing ribbons of blood.

"Stay away from anything metal!" Garrus shouted from his hiding place. "That acid will eat right through it!"

"No shit!" Jack's voice was riven with impotent fury. "What the hell am I supposed to do to that thing, swear at it?"

"Worth a try, you swear at everything else!" the commander shot back.

"Fuck you, Shepard!"

A twisted smile crossed the commander's pallid face, devoid of humor. With a crash, the thresher stretched itself out a second time, its long claws scraping the stone in a desperate attempt to reach the meals hiding among the ruins.

"Palaven," the turian muttered, cringing, "I never thought I'd miss the Mako this much..."

"I thought you ate these things for lunch, Shepard!" Jack shouted.

Shepard mouthed several uncomplimentary things, her face a thundercloud as she reached over her shoulder for the missile launcher. With a roar of defiance, Grunt stepped out and fired at the thresher, sweeping his assault rifle's bursts across the creature's body. There was a hiss and a roar, and a missile spun into the sky, then sailed down toward the thresher, impacting its head with a thump. The creature writhed and whirled, sending another gobbet of acid flying toward Shepard and Garrus. It struck their stone cover with a messy splat.

All of that, enough ordinance to kill a krogan several times, and the thresher didn't even seem to be bleeding. A strange, twisting sensation rolled through krogan's stomach, flowing through his blood in a cold rush. The Tank, for all its endless lessons, had told him nothing about how to handle such a feeling.

_Am I terrified?_

"Stay back from the edge of the dais!" Shepard shouted. She leaned out of her cover and fired another missile, which flew wide as the thresher once again retreated into the ground.

_A fight where the only goal is survival._

Grunt growled to himself just as the stone under them heaved with enough violence to knock him off his feet and send him sprawling. A moment later, the thresher surged back out of the ground, curling in over the edge of the dais and coming in low, claws sweeping the open stone. There was no immediate gunfire- Grunt realized they'd all been knocked down. The beast was cleverer than he'd anticipated. How long had it been haunting the Keystone, preying on less worthy krogan?

A claw swept toward him. Unable to avoid it, Grunt raised his assault rifle just as the claw slammed into him, sundering the weapon and sending him flying sideways. Stars danced in his vision as he rolled and landed on something soft. The cloudy, bulbous eyes of a dead varren stared back at him, long tongue lolling from its slack jaws.

Grunt grabbed the dead varren by the legs and whirled, heaving the beast toward the thresher's rapidly approaching maw, then jumped to his feet. The wet crunch of the varren's body being consumed chased him as he dodged through the stone uprights lining the dais. He caught glimpses of Garrus and Shepard raising their weapons, and the welcome roar of gunfire erupted. As he slid into cover, he saw the creature retreat into the ground once more.

Panting, Grunt was just close enough to hear the commander mutter to herself something about regrets. The ground shuddered. Her palm flat on the stone, Shepard scanned the surrounding ruins, her body rising into a tense crouch. Across the dais, Grunt saw the turian fiddling with his assault rifle as he stole glances over his concrete cover.

"Grunt! Make it count!"

He turned just in time to see Shepard's missile launcher coming toward him in a high arc. Reacting with surprise, he caught it in his left hand. Shepard suddenly stood up and jogged out into the center of the dais, then fired her shotgun down toward the stone, sending stone chips flying.

"Shepard! What are you _doing_?" Garrus yelled.

In answer to Shepard's challenge, the thresher burst out of the rubble in a spray of rock chips. She fired at the stone again, and the creature twisted around, its mouthparts lashing the air, claws held ready. Shepard holstered her shotgun and broke into a jog, angling wide and right of the thresher as the muscular ripple flowed up its body.

Grunt raised the missile launcher. The ammunition counter read a meager three. _Make it count, she said._

Shepard broke into a flat-out run as the gobbet of digestive acid sailed toward her, impacting the stone behind her. As Grunt watched, she changed her trajectory- straight for the thresher. The beast reared up, claws wide. It really was a magnificent predator, supremely well-adapted to the job of eating everything it could wrap its huge mouth around. Grunt envied its perfect singularity of purpose.

Even if it was about to eat his warlord. The thresher lashed downward, welcoming the meal inexplicably heading straight into its gullet.

The air around Shepard distorted in a wash of blue, almost swallowing her piercing war-cry. A resonant boom punched the air. The thresher smashed into the stone where Shepard had been a moment before, but Grunt could just see the blue-black streak cross under the maw's arced body, skipping across the rubble like a spark before slamming into the creature where it met the ground. The thresher shuddered and twisted, claws lashing the air. A spray of black ichor trailed the blue comet that deflected and sailed wide to land in the rubble with a crunch.

The chatter of an assault rifle filled the air. Across the dais, Garrus ran along the cover of the stone barriers, shouting and firing at it. As the thresher twisted, Grunt caught sight of the rent in its side where a plate of its thick chitin had been torn away.

The krogan gave a triumphant roar. "There, turian! A weak point!"

_Now it will count! _ Grunt dropped to one knee and squinted down the missile launcher's sights. In the lens, he could clearly see the targeting laser. The imprints were clear- keep the target painted. He aimed high and fired. The missile left the launcher with a hiss, the recoil thudding into his shoulder. He pulled the sights down and aimed the laser at the bleeding hole in the thresher's side. The missile's guidance system engaged, and it veered down and rocketed toward its target. The ensuing explosion was far more satisfying even than the klixens' fiery end as the creature's flesh bulged and tore, scattering a mess of gore along the broken concrete. The thresher recoiled in soundless pain, shuddering.

"Hah!" Jack shouted. "With that big hole, it can't go back under anymore! Light him up, Lumpy!"

Garrus continued to fire at its head. "Keep it distracted or it'll eat Shepard!"

However limited its intelligence might have been, the thresher seemed to have a clear sense of the biggest threat. The great maw whipped around, and Grunt lunged sideways, narrowly avoiding the acid burst that painted the stone where he'd been standing.

He rolled to his feet, coming up just in time to see the thresher unfurl, spitting another gobbet of slime toward him. On instinct, he flung up his arm to protect his head. Instead of the burning he expected, a curious sensation washed around him, almost pulling him off his feet. He stumbled, and heard the wet sound of the acid impacting the stone to his right. Dark energy hummed in the air, distorting the world around him.

Jack came bounding down the the dais, her biotic corona dancing over her limbs as she waved her shotgun. "Don't make me do everything, krogan!"

"Hah!" Grunt shouted back. "I'll have its teeth for my daggers, you'll see!"

He vaulted the stone barrier and took aim again, firing wide and pulling the laser down toward the thresher's wounded side. The thresher surged upward in a sudden burst, and the missile exploded against its armored chitin.

"Curse you, worm!" Grunt growled.

Using its new height, the thresher stretched out and came down, claws splayed. Something exploded against the thresher's outstretched maw, and Grunt recognized the thump of a concussive grenade. Acid and fleshy parts rained down on the dais. A searing pain erupted from Grunt's right bicep, but the explosion gave him the half second he needed to get clear of the thresher's lashing claws, which whipped over his head.

The krogan gathered his feet under him and, hugging the missile launcher to his chest, pounded down the length of the thresher until he caught sight of the wound again. Behind him, Garrus and Jack's weapons roared, punctuated by the thump of another grenade. Jumping up onto a barrier, Grunt aimed and fired, not bothering to aim wide. The missile flew straight, impacting before the guidance system had time to even activate. A wet explosion sent more flesh and sinew flying, and the creature thrashed and tried to rise, sliding back along its length.

The launcher was empty. Grunt dropped it and broke into a run, pulling his shotgun off of his back. "I'll do more than survive, Shaman!" he roared, jumping off the edge of the dais.

The thresher writhed along the ground, scattering concrete and dust. Grunt scrambled over the jagged rubble. His blood pounded in his ears, pushing away the pain in his arm. No imprint could possibly compare to this, the heat of battle against a massive foe. Ahead of him, the hole in the thresher's side was a gory ruin of pulsing flesh and dark fluids. Teeth bared with triumph, Grunt raised his shotgun and began firing into the wound.

"Spine!"

Grunt looked behind him to see Shepard stagger down the rubble, skidding to her knees. "It's got a spine, Grunt," she said, panting. "Sever it!" Her armor was dark with the thresher's blood, dripping off the slick finish of her visor.

He turned back to the wound and scanned it, catching the telltale flash of white bone. He fired at it, stripping away the ropey tendons with each blast. The thresher tried to roll away from its tormentor, but Grunt jumped forward, finding purchase on the broken chitin that edged the wound, and kept firing. Ejected heat clips landed in the thresher's flesh and hissed, filling the air with the stink of burning meat.

The world narrowed to the space between clips, and struggling to keep his footing. Time compressed into itself until finally, the gray ribbons of the thresher's spinal cord exploded under his shotgun. The great beast shuddered and rolled, throwing Grunt backwards. He landed heavily in the rubble, then scrambled to his feet.

He reached out to the commander. "I need more heat clips!"

"I think... I think it's dead, Grunt." Shepard lowered her outstretched SMG.

Grunt stared at the hulking mess, his hand itching to grab the commander's gun, or anything that would shoot. He took a tentative step back as the haze of battle began to subside. _It's dead. I killed it. More than mere survival!_

"I am KROGAN!" he roared into the dusty sky. The wind took his words, carrying them down into the Keystone's basin and beyond.

Beside him, Shepard planted a foot and tried to stand, but swayed and dropped back to her knees.

"Are you injured?" Grunt asked. She didn't look hurt, but humans were so frail.

"No, I... just need a minute."

"Your charge costs you dearly," he guessed.

"That one more than most." She regarded him steadily from under her gore-streaked helmet, her hand tightening around her SMG.

Grunt chuckled. "I wouldn't insult you, Shepard, least of all on this day. When we fight, it'll be a thing to remember."

Jack appeared over the rubble, hopping from stone to stone. "Gotta say, Shepard, you know how to throw a party," she declared. "Wish you'd been around for _my_ sweet sixteen, we coulda raised some serious hell!"

"Are you okay?" Shepard asked.

The painted human rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Just a little spatter. Scraped it off before it got too deep."

Garrus trailed along behind the painted human, sitting down on a lump pf concrete with a tired thud. He regarded Shepard for a moment before turning his gaze to his rifle. "I sure hope that's the last of the festivities, I'm out of grenades."

A distant roar penetrated the omnipresent wind. Grunt looked up to see a thick-bodied krogan dropship crest the horizon of rubble and fly overhead, swinging wide of the sacred Keystone.

"Uvenk," Grunt rumbled.

"Way to speak too soon, Vakarian," Jack said. "Can we give this asshole a lesson in manners now? I don't think that headbutt got all the way through his thick skull."

"I have a sneaking suspicion it's going to come to that," Shepard replied.

The turian sighed and fed another heat clip into his rifle. "I'm telling you, a few credits for a lapdance-"

"Garrus, hush," the commander murmured.

Grunt stepped over the rubble until he could see where the dropship was coming to rest on the road leading away from the Keystone. Squinting in the wind, he studied the mark of clan Uvenk painted on its side. There was no fear anymore. Like Shepard, he had stood and charged straight into it, and torn out its heart.

Tank be damned, he was krogan.


	16. Small Comfort

_Yes sir, it was a geth. One somewhat broken geth. Well, sort of. It may have been... all of them. No sir, I didn't blow its head off. You see, sir, it... they... talked to me. About a heretic faction of geth. And about Shepard. No sir, I am most certainly not shitting you._

The imaginary conversation played out in Kaidan's head like a demented vid stuck on repeat. The beats of the phantom exchange pulsed in time with the throb of pain that rolled through his skull with every heartbeat. For a while, he was more or less sure he'd lost his mind. All the stress and conflict building up since the meeting on Arcturus had boiled over and the L2 implant had fried his brain. Maybe it would feel good to just curl up into a ball and give in to the sheer absurdity of it all.

Ensconced in his tiny, darkened quarters on the _SSV Sydney_, he could be alone with everything. Even after going over it a hundred times, he couldn't figure out a way to tell anyone the whole story in a way that wouldn't just land him in the medbay to be pumped full of anti-psychotics. A hysterical laugh curdled in his throat, not quite making it out. The migraine was as bad as any he'd had in a long time. They always felt that way. Each one worse somehow than the last, if only because the last one was safely past. No, this one was definitely terrible, made worse by everything crowding his head.

_Yes, sir, the geth. No sir, not_ those _geth-_

He'd clawed his way back to consciousness, pressed against the cold concrete floor of the Horizon warehouse. It had taken a good minute of stumbling around to re-orient himself, to put the scattered pieces back together and remember where he was and what he was doing. He'd stared stupidly at the flashing 'transfer complete' on the warehouse terminal for another few seconds before his much-maligned neurons managed to collect themselves in sufficient number to bring Tennyson's strange order back up from the depths.

The garbled feeling he'd woken up with was all too familiar. He'd been on the business end of a neuroshock charge twice before; once, during an ambush on Binthu, and then way before that back in training, when a couple of 'friends' thought it would be a funny bit of revenge for some imagined biotic slight.

The problem was, to date, a neuroshock charge had proven to be one hundred percent effective in inducing a migraine. By the time he'd tottered back to the Orca, the aura blotting out the right side of his vision had been a decent excuse for his delay. At least he hadn't really had to resort to lying to Tennyson. The transfer seemed to have gone off without a hitch, after all. The rest... was not something he could even fathom trying to explain at that moment. Chief Odell, whatever their differences, proved willing to run interference for the commander as the drop shuttle powered back into orbit. There had been a lot of talk about the Collector attack, during which time Kaidan kept his head safely crammed between his hands, wishing the world would fold up and disappear.

_Evidence? No sir, no evidence. It... they... left. No sir, I was unconscious at the time. I sort of lost my temper, because- _

His throat closed in a choked swell of nausea as he recoiled from the memory. He couldn't deal with that right now, couldn't so much as contemplate it. He'd end up back in the bathroom, heaving up the bitter end of the lining of his empty guts. The pain in his skull didn't tolerate that kind of competition.

The cabin door cycled open, making him flinch.

"Commander Alenko, I'm Chief Arseny," came a voice from the doorway. The light spilling into the room clawed at Kaidan's closed eyelids.

There was an irritated hiss from out in the hall.

"CMO Thursen has released two doses of Solatriptan," the voice went on, lower this time.

There was a thud and a curse, followed by the shuffling of what Kaidan assumed to be his armor, which was heaped on the floor. There was more whispering from the hall. If there was any mercy in all of this, it was that his status as an L2 with known migraine issues meant that even on a strange ship, he was likely to get the good stuff without a lot of fuss from the medical officers.

A cool pad pressed into his exposed neck, followed by the welcome pinch of the micro-dermal injector.

"It's a selective serotonin receptor agonist," the voice said, "so I'll need you to report any numbness or-"

"I_ know_ how triptans work," Kaidan growled.

"Uh, right, sorry, Commander. Second dose coded for four hours from now if you need it."

There was a faint clunk of the micro-dermal injector against the armor case, then the presence retreated in a shuffle of clothing. The door hissed shut and latched. Kaidan cracked open his eyes, squinting at the floor. His armor was still there, pushed up against the wall. Satisfied, he wrapped his arms around his head and curled into the corner of the bed next to the cool metal bulkhead. Relief was coming.

His fingernails caught on the raised edge of his implant jack in the back of his skull, and he had to resist the reflex to give in and dig at it in a surge of vindictiveness. Evidence of what had happened in that warehouse, such as it was, was locked in the belt storage compartment of that armor. Useless for convincing anyone of the geth encounter, the broken datapad was nonetheless his only tenuous proof that he hadn't followed so many L2s off the deep end.

For whatever meager reassurance that provided...

* * *

Everything passed. It always passed, eventually. Sometimes it felt like a kind of Mister Hyde monster lurked in Kaidan's skull, waiting to take over and turn him into someone else. For those hours, it felt like the end of everything, like he would come apart. Then the pain went away and took the incipient insanity with it.

This time clarity dragged a lot of unwelcome baggage with it when it returned. His responsibilities, now a day late due to the migraine, offered themselves as an easy way to avoid thinking about the strange encounter in the warehouse, or even the data transfer. So far as he knew, the Collector materials were safely crated in the ship's cargo bay, but Tennyson's reminder about Sovereign's remains still dogged him. The _Sydney_ was at full cruise on its way back to distant Citadel space. He tried to focus on dealing with the fallout of the Horizon mission, most pressing the disappearances of two of his squad. They were listed as MIA for now, but given the circumstances, he wasn't optimistic. Statements for next of kin had to be prepared. Their pay had to be handled, and Kaidan had to start thinking about replacements, no easy task under the best of circumstances. Work had been his refuge in the past, but now the stress seemed to be intruding even there. He had spent a long time practising the art of not thinking about Shepard- now she lurked around every corner.

Late into the second day, he was in the comm terminal room filling out a report when he felt a presence over his right shoulder. He turned to see Private Tarasov standing there, hands crammed in the pockets of his fatigues.

"Tarasov? What's up?" he inquired.

"Sir. I don't have any duties slated, and I was just wondering if you, um, had any interest in going down to the gym, sir."

Kaidan sat back, easing the kink out of his neck. "Did you get to the appointment medical assigned you?"

Tarasov bounced on the balls of his feet, his gaze tracking along the bulkheads near the ceiling. "Yes sir. I dunno... I never know what to say to those psych people, you know?"

Kaidan nodded. "Too well."

"If you're busy, sir, I won't-"

"Let's go. I could use a break away from a holoprojector."

A brief smile flickered across the private's face, the first trace of good humor Kaidan had seen on him since the Collector attack. Kaidan closed his session and followed Tarasov out of the room.

It was rare enough that a marine squad had more than one biotic, but after reading the private's service record, it was easy to guess why Tarasov had been assigned to Kaidan. A young L3, he was the kind of person Kaidan thought would probably have thrived in another line of work altogether, but for the accident of his birth. The pay incentives and lingering prejudice still made a military career one of the most appealing choices for a biotic, even for those who would not have chosen it otherwise. It was a rather sad situation, and not the first time Kaidan had encountered it. He was tempted to try and have Tarasov transferred to the naval branch, but the Navy didn't have much use for dark energy manipulation. It was still considered by and large an offensive skill-set, only useful for groundwork. Anything else was a 'waste'.

Command obviously hoped that Kaidan could provide some kind of mentoring to the skittish private, perhaps help foster a temperament more suited to the marines. While Kaidan took the responsibilities of his rank seriously, it wasn't often that he thought of himself as a role model. Fashioning a new soldier off a faulty prototype with spotty training didn't strike him as an especially astute decision. Then again, command decisions with regards to biotics rarely made a lot of sense to him.

Horizon hadn't afforded them any time to practice. After arriving on the colony, Kaidan decided it would be best to avoid ostentatious displays of biotics. The colony didn't seem to have any of their own, and anything they could do to avoid further antagonism from the already suspicious colonists seemed like the best course of action.

The _Sydney_ was large enough to house a good-sized gym on the lower deck behind the cargo bay, hosting various training machines and mats for sparring. They made their way to an open space toward the back that would afford them the space to practice a bit, and Kaidan powered up his amp. He was trying to encourage Tarasov to be able to react quickly with biotics, a task easier said than done when concentration was required. Exercises like trying to catch projectiles in mid-flight served for now, though Kaidan wished they had access to a full combat sim that would train him to react while also identifying friend from foe. After a little while, it was clear they were attracting curiosity from others in the room, but Kaidan did his best to ignore it.

"We... aren't getting them back, are we? Walker and 'noue?" Tarasov asked suddenly, letting the barbel he'd been holding tumble to the ground with a thud.

Kaidan dropped his arms to his sides. "It doesn't look good," he admitted with some reluctance. The young L3 could use some good news, but Kaidan wasn't going to lie.

"I saw Walker get taken," Tarasov said in a ghost of a voice.

Kaidan blinked, his mind racing. He didn't want to be the person who just parroted the same empty platitudes. But what kind of response was Tarasov looking for? He watched the private out of the corner of his eye, wishing he was better at reading people.

"I saw a number of colonists get taken, too," he ventured, a chill running down his back at the memory.

"What did they do to us, Commander? Why couldn't we move? Why did..."

"Why wasn't it us, you mean?" Kaidan said quietly.

Tarasov glanced at him, expression stricken.

"I don't know," Kaidan continued, taking care to keep his voice level. "I've asked myself the same question. I think... it was just luck. Shepard's counterattack scared them off before they could round everyone up, and we got lucky. Walker and Inoue weren't."

The private grimaced. "It has to be more than that. What if-"

"Look, it's not a nice thought, I know. Good people aren't supposed to get killed because of chance, are they?"

Tarasov seemed to shake himself, scuffing at the ground with his boot. "Okay, it's dumb, I know."

"Hey, I never said that. It's just that we can't kill ourselves wondering what we could have done differently." _Doesn't this sound familiar..._

The two of them fell silent for a moment as Kaidan groped for more to say. Tarasov had to work through these things somehow, but the commander wasn't sure if his subordinate wanted advice or just wanted someone to vent to. Kaidan would have to eventually decide if Tarasov would continue to serve, or take time off, but he was loathe to push the private away from his job if staying was what helped. He just wasn't yet sure which was the best course of action.

Kaidan saw movement out of the corner of his eye and turned to see a man approaching them. His fatigues and burly physique identified him as a marine.

"Commander Alenko. Second Lieutenant Barker, sir," the marine introduced himself, his salute as crisp as his spare haircut. "Welcome to the _Sydney_."

"Thank you, Lieutenant," Kaidan replied.

"I didn't get your name, Private," Barker said, addressing Tarasov.

"Tarasov, sir." The biotic gave a diffident salute.

"Enjoying the ship?" Barker asked.

"Uh, yes sir," Tarasov said in a robotic tone. "I've only served on a frigate. This is much bigger."

"I was wondering if you'd be interested in sparring, Private. There are some techniques I've been working on, but there's no substitute for a live opponent, right?" Barker's smile was oily.

"You... have lots of opponents." Tarasov replied, waving toward the other marines at the far end of the room.

"The techniques are designed to counter biotics, but I never get to practice them in a practical setting."

Tarasov shifted his weight, suddenly taking an interest in the floor. There was something in Barker's stance, in the way the other marines were watching surreptitiously from across the room, that got Kaidan's hackles up.

"I'll spar with you, Lieutenant," the commander offered.

Barker looked over, surprised, but recovered fast enough. "Uh, okay, sir."

_Yeah, less enthusiastic going against the experienced one, aren't you?_ Kaidan hadn't faced off against another biotic in a practice setting since Brain Camp, and he strictly avoided using them against non-biotics in non-combat situations. After Brain Camp, he just preferred not to call attention to his abilities, instead preferring to be recognized for his technical skills.

He followed the _Sydney_ marine to the sparring mat, and both of them assumed their ready positions. Barker seemed to be using the standard Alliance close quarter fighting stance. Now they definitely had the attention of the others in the room. Kaidan felt the heat of self-consciousness along his back as he tried to ignore them. He'd opened his mouth, like usual, and now he was stuck.

Kaidan threw out a probing punch, which the the lieutenant deflected with a forearm. They exchanged a few more careful hits, circling each other as Kaidan tried to formulate an attack. He hadn't ever been asked to use biotics like this before. A light push backward, he supposed, enough to make a point. He shuffled backward and executed a quick mnemonic.

Even as he completed the gesture, Barker lunged, jabbing Kaidan along the inner thigh. Kaidan staggered, surprised, as a wash of pins and needles rushed down his leg. Barker executed a quick followup, and Kaidan ended up flat on his back, his grip on his dark energy lost. There was a smattering of talk from the audience.

"What's going on in here?" The voice cut through the room. "Barker?"

Kaidan recognized Lieutenant Commander... Hadekel was it? as she strode around the crowd of assembled soldiers. He'd met her yesterday in the officer's mess, she was in command of the marine detachment on the _Sydney_.

"Just sparring, ma'am," Barker said, eyeing Kaidan. It was too late to back off. Egos were engaged, Kaidan's included.

Kaidan climbed to his feet and gave the commander a curt nod of acknowledgement, then turned back to face the lieutenant. His leg was still tingling.

"Come on, don't hold back," Barker said, a confident grin plastered on his face.

Kaidan glowered across at his opponent. He was being taunted and he knew it. It dawned on him that the lieutenant probably didn't have the faintest idea what he was asking for, because Kaidan _was_ holding back. Barker had probably spent the whole of his short career on this ship, practising and preening, never once taking the field with an experienced combat biotic.

Biotics required concentration- the first thing to go out the window when a firefight started up. When adrenaline hit full-force, marshaling the focus to deliver a solid strike was far less easy than it ever was on the practice field. Barker had likely only ever witnessed biotics like Tarasov in action, kids who didn't have a lot of experience with real combat situations. Stress, pain, fear, all of these things interfered with control of dark energy fields. Made them spike or fail unpredictably. In a fistfight, not holding back could mean a burst that would kill the cocky marine.

Barker circled, hands held ready. Kaidan just watched him. It was clear Barker was waiting for Kaidan to flare up again. The commander considered himself able enough at close quarters combat, but nowhere near the skill of someone who spent hours in the gym. He wasn't going to beat the lieutenant at a straight-up fist-fight, but Barker was trying to show up biotics, relying on disruptive strikes.

He'd seen Shepard use similar techniques before. Those strikes, Kaidan noticed, worked well when you weren't expecting them. But what if he was? He breathed deeply, steeled himself, and let the energy crawl up his limbs.

Barker lunged, but this time Kaidan made no attempt to avoid the blow. The jolt travelled across his ribs, making his field flicker. Gritting his teeth, Kaidan snapped his arm down and caught Barker by the wrist. Barker had probably been told that biotics required a certain amount of space to work- perhaps that accounted for the flicker of uncertainty that passed across the _Sydney_ marine's face as he tried to wrench himself free. The lieutenant aimed another punch at Kaidan's ribs. Pain jumped across his torso, forcing a grunt of air out of his lungs. A solid hit, but nothing debilitating.

Kaidan almost wanted to laugh out loud._ Ever been shot through the leg by a geth pulse rifle, smartass?_

The _Sydney_'s gravity well was deep and broad, and it answered Kaidan's call readily. It flowed through him, down his arms, signing through his nerves. A pulling feeling started across his arm and shoulder as he forced a contrary field into place. He was risking a broken arm, or worse, but he wanted to make a point. His opponent was winding up to hit him again, his fist balled up and aiming for Kaidan's face. Finesse was leaving him.

Barker's eyes bulged as his blow slowed and stopped, trapped in a whorl of gravity. Feeling the differential along his arm swelling to a breaking point, Kaidan let go and stepped back, hand outstretched. The sharp, bruised feeling in his ribs throbbed with his breathing, feeding into the field. Compared to a migraine, it was nothing at all.

He looked the lieutenant in the eye. _Just another bully._ _You don't know anything. _

Dark energy folded in around Barker, freezing the man completely in place, one foot raised in mid-stride. The pain, the adrenaline of the fight, felt better than it should rushing through Kaidan's skull. The temptation to throw Barker across the room into his friends was a hot taste in the back of his throat.

_And you're damn lucky for it. No Reapers, no Collectors, no... Cerberus._

Kaidan let the corona around him flare brightly, curling around his limbs. There were scattered sounds from the audience. He knew what he looked like, fire-wreathed in unearthly distortion. He was unprepared for the heady feeling in showing it off in front of a crowd, something he never did.

Squaring his shoulders, Kaidan mimed pulling a sidearm off his belt and aimed his extended finger at Barker's forehead. "Bang. You're dead."

He let the words sink in for a moment before stepping back and releasing the field. Robbed of his momentum, Barker landed on his face in an inelegant sprawl. Kaidan turned away, meeting the wide-eyed stares of the audience with his own challenging look as his fiery aura faded away. There was a riot of conflicting emotions on those faces.

Kaidan turned and headed toward Tarasov, trying not to favor his side as he walked.

"Made your point, Barker?" Commander Hadekel asked behind him.

"I-"

"I think you have. Fun's over, marines!"

"You okay, Commander?" Tarasov asked, eyeing the marines milling around Lieutenant Barker.

"I'll be sore for a few days," Kaidan muttered.

"You didn't have to do that, sir. I mean, instead of me..."

"If he'd just wanted a match, it would have been different. But Barker was out to make himself look good by beating up a biotic."

"They don't like us very much here, do they?"

Commander Hadekel crossed the room to them, forestalling Kaidan's answer.

"Sorry you had to deal with that, Commander Alenko," she said. The commander was an older woman, with tightly bound hair and a stout build.

"I probably shouldn't have let him get to me," Kaidan replied. "But I've had a lousy few days."

She gave a rueful chuckle, lowering her voice. "Honestly, I couldn't have done better myself. He needed to be knocked down a peg or three, and having it done at the hands of a biotic makes it all the better."

"You don't have any in your marine unit, do you?

Her expression clouded. "No. We... there's issues."

Kaidan raised an eyebrow.

Hadekel dropped her voice. "Captain Cummins... not a fan. Scuttlebutt is that a good friend of hers got killed because of an L3 with a fat head who thought he could take on a pirate raid all by himself."

"You don't have to have an implant to make a bad decision," Kaidan said irritably. "If one marine shoots his foot off cleaning his gun, does that make every marine clumsy?"

Tarasov opened his mouth, then closed it and looked away.

"There's not a whole lot I can do about it," she admitted. "Captain Cummins vets my personnel requests, and there always seems to be an excuse. Something in their record that doesn't pass muster."

"Nothing is going to change if no one takes a stand."

"I know." She drew herself up, a defensive edge in her voice. "But if it's any consolation, your little display may have had an effect. Barker's been one of the loudest voices claiming that biotics are unnecessary. You just publicly showed him up."

Kaidan shrugged. He could appreciate her position, even if he didn't agree with it. The unfortunate truth was that calling out your commanding officer on the subject of prejudice wasn't going to create career advancement opportunities. The spark of anger curdled in his gut.

"Well, sir, it's a privilege to meet you," Hadekel went on. "I wish the circumstances were better. I heard you lost some people on that colony."

Tarasov flinched.

"Tarasov, you don't have to hang around here if you'd rather get something to eat," Kaidan suggested.

The private looked from Hadekel to him, then nodded. "Okay, sir. Uh, ma'am." He saluted and trotted away, giving the other marines a wide berth.

"Horizon cost me two marines," Kaidan said, his voice hardening as he looked back at Hadekel. "But I'm not allowed to discuss it. I'd appreciate it if you didn't bring it up around my team, Commander; they need some space."

Hadekel nodded. "Understood, sir." He could see her withdraw into the professional guise as she saluted. "Maybe I'll see you at the OM later."

The lieutenant commander turned and walked across the mats to her marine squad, which had started to disperse when Barker retreated. Kaidan watched her go, leaning against the wall. He raked his fingers through his hair, damp from exertion. The _Normandy _had changed him, he realized.

Shepard hadn't given him much of a choice, back then. Either he kept up, or he risked the lives of the too-small team. He hadn't even had time to worry about what impression he was leaving, or what his commanding officer would think of deadly force. He smirked to himself, wondering idly how things might have been different if he hadn't felt about her the way he did at the time. How much had he assumed about her expectations of him, and how much harder had he tried to fulfill them? How much had the fear of failure in her eyes pushed him past his old limits?

At one time, his resistance to returning to training had left him feeling that his biotics would always be a secondary skill, not taken seriously by either his commanders or his subordinates. He'd felt better for it, at the time. Then, the _Normandy_ posting had forced him onto a training field where the penalty for failure was death. His, or the person he cared about far more than he was supposed to.

He sighed, a long exhalation that felt like it came up from his toes, venting the muddy feeling of biotic exertion that was building in his skull. He looked around. The only sound in the room was now the whine of a treadmill from the far end of the room. It must be getting into B-shift. There were showers near the exit of the gym. He could have a quick rinse, then head back to his quarters. He had a number of energy bars squirrelled away that would keep his appetite at bay.

In the showers, his mind wandered back to the reports he had left to fill out as he stripped and made for the stalls. There were three rows of shower stalls separated by walls. Out of habit, he went to the back end and turned the corner, and almost walked straight into a pair of bodies. The two men lurched apart, one of them slipping and nearly ending up flat on his ass. They stayed poised, frozen, eyes wide and staring at Kaidan as if he were Saren himself. Kaidan had a moment of stunned incomprehension before the realization sank in- their rather exposed anatomy betrayed what they had been up to a moment before. He could feel the raw terror roil past him as one of them managed a few choked words.

"Oh, for..." Kaidan snapped, cutting him off. "Save it for leave, will you? Don't be stupid!"

He turned on his heel and stalked back around the corner to the second row and started the water with a smack of his palm. That wasn't what he was supposed to have done. He was supposed to do his duty and report them. He had no idea who they were, no idea of this was a first-time thing or if they were repeat offenders. If it was a legitimate problem, or one of the uncountable, inevitable moments of humanity that were easier to just let slide. The irony of catching someone else fraternizing did nothing to help.

The streaming water coursing over his head almost masked the sounds of bare feet on the tile, slamming locker doors, harsh whispers, the hiss of the doors closing. Kaidan folded his arms against the wall and leaned his head against them, letting the hot water run down his back. He didn't feel like being Staff Commander Alenko right now. Not the officer, not the recipient of the Star of Terra, not the exemplar L2 biotic. _Stand up straight, your superiors are watching. Stand up straight, your subordinates are watching. _He tried to recall the last time anyone had treated him like a _person_ instead of one of that ponderous list of titles. Called him by his given name.

Shepard, probably. Horizon. The thought did nothing whatsoever to improve his mood. Even considering her brought a knife of raw pain in his chest, forcing him to retreat quickly from the thought. This wasn't the time.

He thought about home, but there was no relief there either. He couldn't explain to his brother, busy with the work of two kids, about how giant bugs were stealing whole colonies. Nor his parents, who tried very hard, but like all people, remained stubbornly human. He didn't want to dump the burden on them, on top of everything else. The inevitable disconnect so often spoken of by the older servicepeople seemed to be creeping up on him too, making the place he was raised no longer seem like home. It had been two years since he'd tried to do anything normal, _be_ normal, even for a few days. Every time it came up, he found himself avoiding it, telling himself that he could stay on the job a little while longer. Going out for drinks with someone had been a tentative step, made easier because it was just one night.

The ship's halls were quiet as he made his way back to his quarters. If he could be content about anything to do with his rank and status right now, it was that it afforded him the privilege of private quarters, even on a ship that wasn't his primary posting. Inside, his armor was still piled on the floor like the discarded carapace of some huge, black-shelled bug. The Colossus' red undersuit had long since been switched out for a new one that integrated the AEGIS system's complex dark energy focusing weave. Staring at it, he swallowed the sudden swell of thickness in his throat.

His comm dinged. Tearing his eyes away, he went to the room's terminal and booted the interface. Wickham? What did she want at this hour?

He opened the comm channel. "Wickham?

The chief's face appeared in holo. "Sir. Is this comm line secure?"

Kaidan frowned. "This an Alliance vessel, Wickham. I don't think the internal network has been compromised by pirates."

"Well no, obviously not, but... Can we talk, Commander? Face to face?"

What could this possibly be about? Kaidan glanced at the pile of armor, then nodded. "If it's important, which I assume it is."

He drummed his fingers on the table. Inviting her to his quarters wasn't altogether appropriate, but many sections of the ship would be monitored. It would serve for a few minutes.

"Come to my quarters," he said. "Aft section, deck three."

She nodded, relief evident in the amber holo of her face. The image closed. In a fit of deliberate stubbornness, Kaidan didn't look back at the armor pile. Instead, he logged in to his unfinished report and stabbed distractedly at the keypad until his door chime pinged.

A touch of the door pad admitted Chief Wickham, who closed the omni-tool that seemed to occupy a perpetual place around her arm.

"Okay Chief, make it quick," Kaidan said.

She nodded, eyes darting around the small room. "You asked us to keep our ears open, for anything to do with the Collector materials. You know." She waved a hand in a vague gesture.

"Yes."

"I, uh, went a bit further than that."

Kaidan raised an eyebrow.

Wickham leaned forward and dropped her voice. "Shepard was on Horizon. Now, maybe I only served under her for a short mission, but she saved my best friend's life on the Citadel. I _know_ that whole business with the geth attack was only half the story. Now they say she's betrayed the Alliance for Cerberus? I don't buy it."

He fought to keep his expression neutral. "You know I can't talk to you about Shepard, Chief."

"I know. But a rear admiral showing up to a Terminus colony at the ass-end of the galaxy? Give me a break, right? So I've been, ah, exploring. Tennyson's been talking to command."

"You broke into a secure Alliance comm channel?" Kaidan had to strain to keep his voice from rising in incredulity.

"No sir! Way too well-protected. But, well, I was poking around the caches. Those realtime tightbeams to the relay run though several systems before going out."

"And if they're flagged secret, those logs get purged."

"Normally they are, yes. But all conversations are logged until the system gets the right clearance to purge everything. There's a bit of a delay. This is an older ship, Commander. Would you believe they're still running TRCP3 protocols? The sysadmin must be living in the stone age."

"They're probably running on a base-five-twelve core."

"Well, that's just it. The five-twelve doesn't support TRCP3 protocol unless they get a retrofit, because it's a hardware port issue and-"

"Get to the point, Chief."

"Um. Sorry. This is the thing, sir. I found some pre-encryption cache fragments in the comm dump data. Rear Admiral Tennyson."

"And?"

"He's... I think they're going to assassinate Shepard."


	17. Field Reversal

If there was anything Jack hated about spaceflight, it was how much _waiting_ was involved. Long stretches, days even, with nothing but the same four walls, the same crappy food, and the same annoying people. As day dragged into night, the sullen red light of the _Normandy_'s heat control systems didn't change.

At least Illium had been fun for a while. Shepard sure had some weird friends, like that flake in the bar who had claimed to be a secret agent. Either he was a jackass of the highest order, or some kind of special ops that used stupidity as a cover. Jack was pretty sure of the former, especially after the monumental eye-roll Shepard had given when his back was turned. Then there was the strange asari who stopped Shepard in the stock plaza, went all black-eyes and started talking like some kind of oracle. Why Shepard hadn't ventilated the weirdo on the spot was beyond her.

Something to think about other than Pragia. Jack had hardly believed it when Shepard came down to announce that they were en route to the research station. Her stomach had coiled with a sick cold as the Kodiak rumbled into the atmosphere- it had been one thing to boast about blowing the place to pieces, but it was something else to be there in person.

"Boom," she muttered, picturing the explosion. A white-hot flare illuminating the dark sky, vaporizing the perpetual rain and charring the growth of Pragia's invasive trees. Liquid fire, scouring the receiving bay, the hallways, the dorms, the fighting pit. Searing away the stains, shattering the one-way glass. Gone.

Not so much gone. Jack butted the heel of her hand into her temple. It was all still there, playing out behind her eyes. And now there were new voices. All that talk about Subject Zero, the experiments on the other kids. Oh, pushing that button had been sweet. For a few minutes. But it hadn't gone away.

With a grunt of frustration, Jack pushed herself up from her cot and paced the small gantry. Why had Shepard even bothered to go to Pragia, anyway? This whole Collector business, Jack supposed. Now she owed the commander. It was the only explanation that made sense. The biotic couldn't sort out Shepard, and that brought its own frustrations. The commander had come down to the pit to talk, make like she was almost trying to be Jack's friend. The woman made no sense. Maybe she wanted a fuck but couldn't come out and say it... but on the other hand, she didn't seem like the type. Whatever that type was. She hung out with the turian an awful lot...

Jack's stomach growled. Like the constant litany of static shocks, a side effect of being a biotic. Food usually meant a fight of some kind, either to find it or keep it. Food had never once been abundant in her life. It was either rationed to a specific schedule, or hoarded by the people in charge. Space was a lean kind of place. There was some sort of system on this ship, but Jack largely ignored it, scavenging from the kitchen mid-shift, or bugging the krogan. He always had more than he could eat, and it was kind of fun. He'd get all wound up over the weirdest things, like that time he went on about some battle against salarians, pounding his chest about how krogans were better than those sneaky frogs because they were stand-up fighters.

She liked the emergency stairwell better than the elevator. No chance of being stuck with anyone in that small box. Out of habit, Jack scanned the dark recesses of the bulkheads as she made her way up a deck. There were bound to be cameras hidden away in there, but Cerberus went to greater lengths to hide them than the prison. Kuril wanted the prisoners to _know_ that their every move was watched. But a Cerberus facility, well, even though monitoring was a foregone conclusion, they kept up a pretense for some reason. That creepy AI was probably sending it all back to home base, too. The details of everyone's secret habits- shower singing, toenail picking and how many times a week they jerked off. Jack wondered if the freak in charge of Cerberus wasn't just a big voyeur.

At the landing for deck two, she slipped out the narrow door into the hall. There was a startled noise, and she spun to find someone behind her- one of the Cerberus dorks in his white-shouldered uniform. He wasn't one of the engineering crew she occasionally saw on the lower decks, so she didn't recognize him offhand. He was staring at her in wide-eyed surprise.

"Well?" she snapped, casting him a challenging look up and down. His musculature didn't quite suit his narrow face. One of those skinny kids that tried to bulk himself up with low-end gene mods, she guessed.

"Nothing, uh, ma'am," the man stammered. He was doing the usual- trying to look at her ink without being obvious about it, but succeeding only at being obvious about it.

"'Ma'am'?" Jack smirked. "I been called a lot of things, Cerberus, but that might just be the funniest."

"I didn't mean, uh..."

"Get lost before you hurt yourself."

He scampered around the elevator, and there was a swell of half-whispered voices from the mess. Probably a whole gaggle of Cerberus drones. Jack sidled around the bulkhead with a quiet curse. Not the best time to raid the kitchen for a meal, it seemed. She wasn't in the mood to stand around being ogled, and Shepard would get bent out of shape if the former convict employed any of her usual techniques for getting an unwanted audience to find something else to pay attention to.

In the hallway, past the bathroom, the door to the port observation deck loomed in the reflected metal light. Next to the open gate to the elevator, Jack leaned against the doorframe and contemplated the lock holo, which glowed green. Curiosity prickled again. On the other side was that freaky old asari they'd picked up on Illium, some kind of supercop with eyes like a shark.

Before she could think about it, she'd slipped down the hall. Her hand stopped above the lock holo. She could feel the flow of dark energy beyond the door. Not the sharp spikes of a fighting biotic, but a smooth, pulsing current. Asari. Bitch-queens of the galaxy. Some were just spoiled brats, but some of them, like Aria, had the balls to just take what they wanted and demand that everyone else shut the hell up and live with it.

She touched the holo, and the heavy door slid open to a landscape of stars. Outlined in a wreath of subtle blue, the seated form of the justicar occupied the floor in front of the window. The asari's frilled head moved ever so slightly, but the glow didn't dissipate. As the door shut behind her, Jack sauntered around the dimly lit room, eying the justicar. She was sitting cross legged, and a small, bright whorl of dark energy pulsed above her extended hands, drawing and refracting the starlight.

"I wondered if I might see you soon," the justicar said. Her voice was low and smooth, each word enunciated with care.

"That so?" Jack said, making a show of examining the room. It was spartan, no different than the common areas of the ship. The asari seemed to have as many personal possessions as Jack herself. Weapons, and little else.

The pervasive gravity well generated by the ship's drive core was punctuated by the tug of the asari's small, carefully controlled vortex. Jack had never felt anything quite like it. Back on Pragia, the scientists had always insisted on more. More power, more punch. Be the strongest, and no one could touch you. As strong as any asari. But looking into that little whorl of distorted starlight, Jack knew right away that she couldn't do that, and it had nothing to do with power.

"I am used to being the subject of curiosity," Samara said. "And often, of fear. I have rarely been among humans. I felt your eyes on me on Illium."

Jack shrugged. "You can do some pretty funky stuff. Stuff I've never seen before. And I've been around."

"So I gathered."

Jack peered at the justicar, trying to divine any hidden meaning under her plain words.

"How about the flying thing?" Jack suggested. "Must be fun."

"I did not fly. I adjusted my own mass so as to slow my descent."

"Whatever. It still looked like a useful trick."

The asari shifted, waiting a moment before answering. "You would like to learn it, would you? Much like Shepard herself, your biotics strike out from a place of rage. It gives you great strength when you fell your enemies, but it should not be turned inward, onto yourself."

Jack lifted a lip into a sneer. "So, you gonna give me that line about calm and serenity? Zen biotics, right? Forget I asked."

The asari cocked her head. Jack could feel the currents in the room shift, a nearly imperceptible tremor.

"Rage... can get you back on your feet when you are beaten. It can turn a tide you never imagined fighting. It can keep you on a foe's trail when all else has drained out of you. No, Jack, I would never claim that rage has no value. That is foolish. But tell me, are you its master or its slave?"

Jack grunted in disgust. "Not you too. I've had enough of people trying to fix me. It didn't work on Pragia, it's sure as hell not gonna work now."

"Is that what you seek? To be fixed?"

"You know, we use that word for a dog that gets its balls cut off. So no, I don't think I want to be fixed."

Jack turned toward the door, reaching for the lock holo. The gravity shift built up from below, faster than she thought possible. Suddenly her body was so heavy she could hardly lift her feet.

"What... what are you doing?" she growled. The pressure forced her down to one knee.

"You came here for a purpose, did you not? Do not leave unfulfilled."

The gravitic field grew until Jack was forced down on her knees, hands planted on the floor to keep from being crushed further.

"I just walked in!" Jack snapped, forcing the words past the weight on her ribs. "Not everything has some big reason!"

She twisted to look at the asari, who was still sitting facing the window, outlined in a glimmer of blue distortion.

"And yet you are a thinking creature," Samara said, "therefore there is intent behind your decision. Were I to guess, I would say that you wanted to test yourself. You come from a place where being the strongest is what keeps you safe. And so you came to make sure you were still the strongest."

The ex-convict didn't reply, only continued to glare at Samara.

"Am I incorrect?" the justicar asked.

"You have no goddamn idea about me!" Jack snarled.

"You have not answered my question."

"Gods, you're even worse than Chambers and her touchy-feely 'let's talk' love-in. Fine! Yeah, of course I came to see what you're made of! Everyone on this ship is supposed to be hot shit, right?"

"Well then, here I am."

Jack strained against the tidal flow pushing her into the floor. The current pulsed and intensified as if in answer, pulling on her flesh. Seconds dragged into minutes as she tried to find a crack in the field, to break the flow of dark energy. But everywhere she pushed, the field only seemed to grow stronger.

There was a hiss, and a sudden light spilled over Jack's shoulders into the room. Gritting her teeth, Jack kept her gaze riveted on the justicar.

"What's going on in here?" Shepard's voice was sharp.

"An exercise," Samara replied with perfect cool.

"I can't have my team members hurting each other, Samara."

"You have my word that no harm will come to either of us, Shepard."

There was a flicker at the edges of the room, the intrusion of another biotic field. Faint, probing. "Jack-"

"Get lost, Shepard," Jack grated between her teeth. "We're having a nice talk here."

The light held for a moment, highlighting the back of the justicar's rust-red, high-collared suit. The wrinkled twist of blue flesh at the back of her head seemed stark and alien. After a moment, the door cycled closed, plunging the room back into dim starlight.

"Okay, what do you want from me?" Jack demanded.

"Nothing, child." Samara turned finally, staying seated. She folded her hands in her lap. "_You_ came to _my_ door."

Jack closed her eyes and tried to think. Her brain ran hot with the need to fight, to hurt something. To somehow make this damned asari stop talking. Pain, pain was easy to withstand, but all this needling talk was something else. Jack didn't like talk. Chambers had been easy to scare off, and Shepard knew how to catch a clue. This... damn asari wasn't going to do either.

"What about the barrier, huh?" Jack said, fixing the justicar with a triumphant look. "Isn't that turning biotics to yourself? All of us do that, including Shepard!"

"A good point," the asari said. "But it is a natural reflex of all creatures to protect the body from harm. It is not learned. It is fundamental to our evolution, one of the few things in common to all living things wherever they may be found. Humans are new to biotics, but the pattern holds. Even before you sought our guidance, it is the one skill that came naturally to you."

Jack scowled.

"It is not arrogance, child, merely the truth." The justicar smoothed a hand over her knee. "And a truth I find fascinating."

"I'm not a damn child, asari. I stopped being a kid a long time ago!"

A small smile played across the alien's serene face. She nodded. "You have but a few words for that part of your growth cycle- understandable, since it is so brief. But because of that, your translator simplifies the concept. You are not a child in the way that you think of it, neither physically nor mentally. But we have many words.

"'Trana'has'." Samara formed the word with deliberation. "In the language of south-eastern Thessia, it signifies one who is adult in body but unformed in the mind. 'Farsali'. In the language of the first wave colony of Innual, it signifies a young one who has seen only one perspective. 'Enat-yani'... the Green Witches of the mountains of Ke'anea use this word for one who thinks their pain encompasses all the world. None of these terms would describe you wholly, no more than 'child'. But in many ways, they still serve."

"Is this how it always goes?" Jack said. "You have to tie your audience down so they can listen to you jabber?"

The justicar didn't reply. Under the glow of biotic corona, the dim light picked out the mottling of her skin near the line of her frill and caught the edge of the circlet-like crest on her forehead. Her posture remained ramrod-straight. Jack couldn't imagine how she put out a field this strong without showing it.

"They won't admit what they did!" Jack blurted. "None of them! The damn cheerleader saw it all with her own eyes, and she still won't come down from her fucking pedestal!"

"Why does it matter what your enemies think?"

_The voice coming from the console was a knife. "We lost Subject Seven last night. Acute hypothermia. Repeated tests show no discernible improvements in biotic output-"_

The blood pounded in Jack's ears. The weight pressing down on her seemed to intensify. "They won't admit what they did to me! That I had it the worst!"

"Your truth is yours and yours alone," the asari said with maddening serenity.

_"Subject Eleven is starting to show increased tolerance to electroshock stimulus. Pit test planned for oh-four hundred tomorrow morning-" _

"Now they're all dead, or gone, or Cerberus is hiding them..."

"Then they are beyond you, no matter how grave your charge."

_"Subject Eight shows interesting results from adrenal modification. Shows increased corticosteroid and epinephrine response to stressor stimuli-"_

"I blew it all up!"

"Why?" Samara asked softly.

Jack opened her mouth to snarl out an answer, but found none. Instead, a choked sob forced its way out of her throat.

The heavy gravity vanished.

Jack lurched to her feet in a rush, windmilling her arms to stay upright. The sudden return to normal made her feel as if she would float away. Fury crashed down around her ears, scorching everything else away. "What the fuck?"

The justicar looked at her steadily, the starlight catching in her colorless eyes.

"What did you do?" Jack demanded, backing up. She bumped into the door.

"I merely redirected and focused your own field downward. When you let go, it let go of you. You sought to test your strength, did you not? The only strength that matters is your own. With it, you shape your world."

"My..." Jack stared at the asari. "Screw you! I don't need your mind tricks!"

Samara cocked her head. "Who is tricking whom?"

Jack whirled and pounded the lock holo, slipping out the door the second it was open wide enough. The portal hissed shut behind her, leaving her in the hallway, panting with fury. She peered down the hall, listening, grinding her teeth. She almost wished that little Cerberus snot would come out in the hall again, so she would have an excuse to smash him into paste against the bulkhead. She padded down the hall and peered around the corner into the mess, then froze.

The cheerleader's own door stood there, outlined in the antiseptic light. A growl escaped Jack's lips. She could go in there and _pound_ the truth out of the Cerberus bitch with her own hands. It would feel _so_ good.

"Jack?"

The biotic spun. Shepard stood by the elevator, a blue mug in one hand and a datapad in the other.

"Everything all right?" the commander asked.

Jack just snorted, rocked back on her heels and glanced back to Lawson's door. Raw anger coiled through her guts, pushing for release. She knew she was going to be denied, this time at least. Shepard put on a show of normality, but the artificial glint in her eyes was a reminder of that day down in the pit.

"I suppose that was a stupid question, wasn't it," Shepard mused, sipping her drink.

"Laugh it up," Jack snarled.

"At your expense? No. Maybe at mine, though."

The former convict scowled at Shepard for a long moment. "You're a weird one, Shepard."

"Just as much as any of this, I guess." She indicated the ship at large with a wave of the datapad.

"Got it all figured out, then?"

Shepard did laugh then, a short bark tinged with bitterness. "Me? Not by a long shot. I'll let you know if I ever do, but I wouldn't hold your breath. There's spaghetti in the second fridge, by the way. Pretty decent batch. Good night, Jack."

She stepped into the elevator, and the door closed behind her, leaving only the faint smell of coffee in the air. Jack lingered for a moment, glancing back to Miranda's door. Her rage had been blunted for the moment. The mess was empty, and the prospect of food had taken hold in its place.

"We'll have it out, cheerleader," she muttered, "just... just you wait."


	18. Battle Wake

"I don't like this," Thane said. He wished the sniper rifle on his back didn't have to be bundled up as it was. Many people carried a visible sidearm on Omega, but his well-maintained, expensive weapon would attract the the kind of attention they didn't want right now.

The asari justicar turned her colorless gaze on him. "I would not have asked it of Shepard if I believed there to be any other way. Morinth must not be allowed to kill again."

Thane could offer no argument to that assessment. The despair on the face of the sculptor's mother was vivid in his memory. But still, using Commander Shepard as bait did not sit well with him. The justicar's reasoning was pragmatic enough, and Shepard hardly a vulnerable innocent. But still, it affected him.

_How strange. Again, I am here. Connected._

He expected to go to his death in the same way he had entered Dantius Towers- watching his body carry out its appointed task. But crouched beside the justicar in one of Omega's back alleys, he was aware of everything around him, aware of the tick of each moment passing them by that Shepard did not emerge from the private club. His spirit and body were one. It was unsettling.

"It's them," Samara said, her voice clipped with the tension of the hunt. A lifetime of searching.

The door to the club cycled open, and Shepard emerged with an asari. Thane caught his breath. The reason for this strange mission snapped into focus. The asari at Shepard's side, the murderer of countless people, could have been Samara herself but for her high-necked black suit. The drell quelled the urge to look over at his companion, in case it was some trick of his memory. The resemblance was too strong- it could only be mother and daughter.

Morinth and Shepard walked past them toward the markets. Thane could hear the justicar's clothes rustle as she shifted, intent on her prey.

"Wait," Thane whispered, laying a hand on her arm. "Let me follow them."

"I have waited too long for this moment, assassin," Samara said softly. Odd, the word didn't sound like an accusation coming from her as it so often did from others. "Never have I been this close. I cannot fail."

"This is why you must let me do it. Morinth will feel you behind her. She has been looking over her shoulder for you for a lifetime, I see it. But she will pay much less attention to a lone drell."

Without waiting for an answer, Thane activated his omni-tool in minimal display mode and toggled through his selection of camouflage. In response, the chromatophores lining his jacket fluttered and changed, shifting from shiny black to a matte rust color. Another command shifted the seams and edges in random splotches, giving the illusion of wear and dirt. It would not stand up to close inspection, but in Omega's patchy lighting, the disguise would serve.

"Go then, quickly now," Samara said, and stepped back. The faintest quaver in her voice belied the difficulty the ancient asari had in saying the words.

"I will stay in contact," he said as he turned and hurried down the corridor. A quick tug of his collar unclipped the folded hood, which he straightened and pulled over his head. A pair of dark, wraparound glasses, withdrawn from a pocket, hid the last of his distinguishing features. As he rounded the corner into the market, hands in his pockets, he slipped into another body.

_Amonkira, Lord of Hunters. Make me silent and swift. Make my steps sure and my presence empty as the wind._

A lesson given by one of his teachers bubbled to the top of his mind. _Be not so normal that you attract notice_. How long had those words confounded him? But the paradox itself was the lesson- there was no normal in the crowds of Omega, nor anywhere else. In the concerted attempt to blend in, one attracted attention. The task, then, was to simply be. For this purpose, Thane had practiced an array of personas that he could call upon when needed. He went into detail with each of these imaginary drell, deciding what their jobs were, what they did in their spare time, what were their favorite foods. Each one stood, walked and held themselves in a different manner than the other. Most importantly, they did not move like Thane Krios, the professional assassin.

Here in the markets of Omega, he was Taro, a deckhand on a shipping freighter belonging to a fussy volus who had too many debts. Taro had been an eager youth, eager to see the stars. But life away from Kahje's endless seas had not been kind to him. Now, one failed deal too many had turned Taro into a listless adult who had a taste for rebuilding old loader mechs and tended not to look where he was going.

Through the crowds, he spotted Shepard and Morinth walking past the elcor junk dealer's shop. The markets afforded him a certain amount of cover, and so he allowed himself to close the distance between them, keeping his head downcast but all the while watching his marks. How many times had be engaged in this dance? It was not the first time he'd trailed lovers of one sort or another. Those species that experienced the romantic pair-bond made his job easier. In the throes of their feelings, they paid little attention to anyone other than each other.

Thane drifted toward a shop selling several kinds of scrap. Shepard was not playing the wind-borne lover, though. Her steps were deliberate, the set of her shoulders anything but easy. It must be intentional, he realized. From what Samara had said, the predator at Shepard's side had no interest in a timid toy to play with. The asari moved with the easy grace of her kind, but in her movements Thane could see the almost magnetic draw the human exerted on her. Morinth remained intrusively close, her hands almost straying to Shepard with a curiosity only just restrained.

No, not curiosity. Hunger. A thord manta circling its meal.

There were no mech parts at the shop, and so Taro angled away. He nearly bumped into a turian, who hissed at him in irritation, mandibles flaring wide. Across the plaza, Morinth glanced in his direction. A rush of heat prickled across Thane's skin, but Taro didn't care about the asari across the room. He'd spotted a set of hydraulic push jacks on the racks of scrap behind a batarian's counter. Nearly new.

Taking no further interest in him, Thane's quarry stopped in front of one of the large elevators that led to the the habitation section above the markets. Elevators were trouble. Thane stopped, letting Taro study the holo-projected price lists, but scanning the elevator area from the safety of his dark glasses. There were three elevator doors. In another kind of structure, one that had been planned, he could have predicted where they led, but in Omega's twisting architecture, he had no guarantees. Taro searched for his credit chit on his belt. Thane palmed something from one of the concealed compartments.

The indicator above the elevator Shepard stood in front of lit up, and the door cycled open. Time was slipping away from him. He couldn't get into the elevator without drawing attention to himself, nor hope to guess what floor they would go to in the vast station. He turned away from the junk dealer's counter and Taro stumbled on the uneven flooring, catching himself on the metal riser that supported the sign of the neighboring stall. Thane's searching fingers found a niche high on the corroding metal. He cast a glance back toward the elevator. The door was closing, and a flash of blue skin told him Morinth and Shepard were aboard.

Not a moment later, the elevator to the left of the car Morinth was on opened, spilling a trio of barefaced turians into the markets. Amonkira must favor him today. Ignoring the questioning stare of the batarian shopkeeper, Thane dashed across the plaza and slipped through the closing doors. Inside, he touched the button for the top floor, then tapped the command into his omni-tool that switched on the tiny camera he'd planted on the sign and fed the picture to a small HUD in his glasses.

The elevator came to rest a few floors up and the door opened. Thane's heart nearly stopped when the doors opened to blue asari faces, but they were strangers. The pair cast him an incurious glance before selecting their floor and resuming their discussion as the doors closed. Hands in his pockets, Thane adjusted the camera's view, quelling a burst of impatience at the slow speed of the zoom from the tiny device. He recognized the dialect the asari were speaking- a pidgin of Thessian low common and the Wea'kia of the third-wave merchant class spoken on some of the outer asari colony worlds. Accents similar to Aria's own. Curious. The camera focused on the floor display above the middle elevator. The numbers were still counting up.

The image was starting to distort as the distance put more metal between him and his camera. Thane switched the feed to piggyback on the _Normandy_'s powerful private comm band. Risky, but Morinth had no reason to be scanning local data traffic right now. The image became clear again as his elevator continued to ascend. He didn't want to speak with the two asari there, so he typed a quick message to Samara into his minimized omni-tool. _Up from the elevators in the markets, across from batarian junk dealer._

The number in the camera display in his HUD stopped. Thirty-four. His own car was at thirty-one. He quickly touched the elevator's holodisplay, provoking a surprised glance from his fellow occupants. He slipped his hands back in his pockets, finding his false persona as he dropped his head to a disinterested angle. The door opened, and he shuffled out.

The only occupants of the hallway, headed away from the elevator, were a trio of salarians, jabbering to each other in high Manno.

A hissed curse escaped Thane's lips. Shepard and Morinth's elevator must have taken on other passengers as well. He switched his HUD feed back to the camera down in the markets. The floor number changed, changed, and stopped. Thirty-seven. His elevator car had closed and gone, and waiting for another would take too long. Keeping part of his attention on the display, Thane scanned the halls, spotting the base of a staircase across the landing. As long as they led to the upper levels and not to some other part of the station...

The elevator display in his HUD started descending. Its occupants had exited on thirty-seven and the car had left for another call. Or else Thane had missed them much further down while he'd been calibrating the camera. The time window was narrow, but anything was possible. Thane came to the stairs and took them two at a time as he vaulted upward. The stairs switched back before coming to an open door, painted with a large '35' in Thessian script. He kept running. His lungs were starting to burn, and he forced down a fit of coughing that tried to well up his throat. Floor thirty-seven took far too long to appear, even if it was a bare stretch of seconds.

The stairwell door opened to a pool of light from the hallway beyond. With a quick check of his angles, Thane dashed through and sought out the dimmer side of the hallway. Running his fingertips along the wall to his left, he closed his eyes and listened, breathing in long breaths to calm his racing heart. The halls hummed with the omnipresent atmospheric scrubbers. Somewhere, a door cycled shut with a clank. It sounded too heavy to be a residence, more like a cargo or section door.

_There._ A voice, perhaps a laugh. Thane broke into a jog, his soft boots making little sound on the diamondplate metal floors. An intersection loomed in front of him. He slowed, listening again as he came around the corner. A flickering holo showed residence numbers, with arrows pointing in both directions. Sound could betray a hunter in such a place, bouncing and echoing off the angled walls and sending him down the wrong path.

There again, voices. Closer now. He crossed the intersection and slipped into the dim recess of a bulkhead plate just in front of a bend in the corridor. With a flick of his wrist, a small mirror popped out of the hem of his sleeve. He poked it around the corner at waist level- a less natural height to seek out a pursuer peeking around a corner. Even reflected in the tiny mirror, his memory picked out the pertinent details from the figures around the corner- Shepard's hair drawn back in a ponytail, the particular hue of her skin, the dismissive gesture she sometimes made with her hand when she spoke. Morinth glided around her, a dark shadow with a mountain cat's inviting smile.

His heart thudded. A prayer slipped from his lips, silent and unbidden._ Arashu, Guardian Mother, watch over your siha..._

The two vanished around a corner at the far end. Thane padded into the hall, ears searching for any hint that his quarry would change direction. There was a click and hiss of a door opening. He froze, waiting, and a few seconds later the door cycled again. Silence fell. He jogged forward and once again slipped his mirror around the corner.

The short hall beyond was empty but for two doors on opposite sides, both closed and locked with a red holo. The far end of the hall opened onto a walkway over open space, deep in the mined-out center of the asteroid. Thane flipped the mirror back into its compartment and keyed his glasses to display infrared. The faint glow of heat left by the pair of bodies was already starting to drift away in the recycled air currents, but it was more than enough to tell Thane which door had been used a moment before.

_I have you._ He withdrew back around the corner. "Samara," he murmured into his comms, "level thirty-seven, section three. Left at the intersection."

"Stay hidden," came the tense response, "I'll be there in but a moment."

Samara came as fast as she promised, but every moment that went by dragged in Thane's head. How long could Shepard keep up the charade? How long would the predator wait before moving in for the kill?

"There." Thane pointed into the corridor, impatient. "The unit on the right. But the door is locked."

"It will not impede me," she said. She touched her belt. Thane realized what he thought had been a kind of bulky grenade was in fact a canister of molten omni-gel. But instead of heading for the door, she turned to him.

"Sere Krios," she said, "there is a reason I asked you to accompany us. When we emerge from there, I will make this sign." She raised her hands and made a complicated gesture, interlocking her fingers. "Your memory will recognize it precisely. If I do not make the sign, if there is even one gesture out of place, you must kill me."

Thane frowned, taken aback. "Why?"

"If I do not make the sign, then I have failed, and it will not be me." Her voice lowered to a dreadful seriousness. "Do not hesitate. Morinth must not be allowed to leave this place. This final act is in your hands, Sere Krios."

The justicar's uncertainty left a cold feeling in his gut. "I understand." _Please, do not wait any longer._

She nodded, her colorless eyes closed for a brief moment and she turned toward the door.

"Amonkira go with you," he murmured to the asari's retreating back as she turned and went down the corridor to the door. With a hiss, the door opened and she slipped through.

The hallway fell silent again. Thane pulled the wrapped sniper rifle off his back and removed the covering, scanning the area for a suitable aerie. He did not want to have to get close to Morinth if it came to that, nor engage her biotics. If she was even half as strong as Samara, then she would be formidable. He jogged down to the far end of the hall where it opened into one of the asteroid's many cavernous main chambers. Morinth's lodgings must be expensive indeed, to look out into Omega's vast internal cityscape. Alcoves in the arching buttresses supporting the building looked like they would provide some cover away from the door.

He settled himself, unfolded the rifle and peered through the sights. The shot was relatively short, and there were no air currents to speak of. But Morinth - _Arashu forbid her victory_ \- might have a barrier up. There were ways to kill biotics. From the back of his belt he withdrew a module that he slotted into position along the top of his rifle and powered on. The small element zero core would spin a potent distorting warp to encircle the round as it left the barrel, wreaking havok on both a barrier and his rifle- he would only get a few shots before the extra field threw his sights off.

Distantly, Thane felt gravity twisting, a flutter on the very edge of his senses. His grip tightened on the rifle. Battle was joined. No prayers now, only a tense focus as he sighted the door, aiming at head-level. Air currents ruffled his coat, driven by the many air systems of the asteroid city. The faraway buzz of random gravcar traffic filtered across the intervening space. What where they doing? Had Morinth triumphed, even against Shepard and the justicar both? He chided himself in silent frustration. He was supposed to be patient as a stone, focused. Not worrying about what was happening beyond the door. He was supposed to be separate from that.

The door opened then, jolting him from his reverie. Magnified in his scope, Samara emerged from the doorway, looking up and down the hall. But was it her? He laid his finger on the trigger.

The asari made the sign, every gesture a perfect copy of what he'd seen minutes before.

Thane let out the breath he didn't realize he'd been holding and lowered his gun. They'd done it, and the murderer was dead. He folded up his sniper rifle and dropped down from the buttress, rounding the walkway into the hall. When he arrived, it was Shepard that stood in front of Morinth's door.

"Where is Samara?" Thane asked as he wrapped up his rifle.

"She wanted to be alone for a while," Shepard replied. She sank back against the hallway wall.

"I suppose I can understand... Are you all right, Shepard?"

"She tried to get into my head. I could feel..." Shepard shuddered, looking away.

_You were not fast enough, justicar._ Thane laid a tentative hand on the commander's shoulder.

"I'll be all right," Shepard said, standing straight as if to defy the memory itself. "It's just, I never, ever wanted to do anything like that. I fight with guns, not..." she gestured vaguely. "Not _myself_."

"Your soul."

"Uh, yeah, I guess." Shepard turned and marched down the hallway, and Thane hurried to catch up as she cast a suspicious stare down the long corridor. "I feel naked without my gear in a place like this."

Thane withdrew his sidearm and held it out to her.

"Are you sure?" she asked, taking it.

"I am never without a weapon. I would have thought..." He hesitated. He had spoken with few humans about the subject, but he knew that some of them held strange beliefs with regards to biotics. "You are biotic, and a strong one. I wouldn't have thought you would consider yourself unarmed."

Shepard smirked. "It's the difference between a sledgehammer and a scalpel, I suppose. Thank you."

He wasn't sure he understood her comparison, but what he did understand was the preference for having alternatives.

She clipped the weapon to her belt. "Speaking of biotics, I like that punch of yours, channeling your biotics through your hand? It's impressive."

Thane felt a flicker of pride. It was a technique considered more subtle and difficult than the flashy effects the vids were fond of, and it had taken him a long time to master.

"I can teach it to you, if you're interested." The particular techniques were in theory secret, though he'd never been bound to silence in a formal manner. He found he didn't care what his former teacher might think.

Shepard chuckled and shook her head. "I'd just pull my own arm off. Not much use against the Collectors then! Besides, this new implant Cerberus put in my head likes to spring things on me."

"What do you mean?"

"Control has never been my strong point, but when you go to jog across a room, blink, and find you've just put your shoulder through a krogan's breastplate, it makes you wonder."

"Such a charge is a rare talent."

"So Mordin claims." She turned to him. "You've heard of other people doing it?"

"Yes." He nodded. "My instructor called the technique 'Anyakai', after a great beast of the deserts of Rakhana. But she did not teach it to me. I lacked the overt strength. She said it was not something one should attempt weakly."

"I'm not sure I like doing it. I swear I... went _through_ a mechanical lift once. I looked back and I couldn't see my starting point. I have no idea what happened."

"Perhaps it's more important that the enemy you struck would never get back up."

"Well, that time. It doesn't reflect well on the 'Savior of the Citadel' to arrive in front of the big bad guy and then just throw up on him, does it?"

"Is it so disorienting?"

"Yeah. Maybe I'm just not used to it yet. But, well, what if I go straight through a bulkhead and end up in space?" She laughed, but it was the kind of strained mirth that covered real fear.

"Take heart, then, that you have so many other weapons to choose from," he offered.

A sly look crossed her face. "Are you making fun of me, sir drell?"

Was he? It was almost a smile that crossed her stress-drawn face, too rare an expression. What humans found humorous often perplexed him, but they seemed fond of exaggeration.

"Madame Spectre," he said, plucking at his collar, "making fun of lions only leads to becoming a meal. Especially the ones that carry lighting on their backs."

"You know about lions, do you?"

"Part of my training was the study of the great predators of many worlds. But I never understood why the females tolerated having to do all the work for one indolent male."

She laughed, much to his surprise. It was a pleasant sound. He was content to let it lie rather than ask the reason. They arrived back at the elevator bank.

Shepard touched the call button. "I've read that in humans, every time we remember something, we're re-writing the memory in our brains. Because we add our bias to it, over time, the accuracy degrades until it doesn't resemble the truth much anymore. So our truest memories are actually the ones we never think about."

The notion was both fascinating and horrifying. Thane couldn't imagine losing Irikah that way, little by little as the years passed. But there were other memories he could do without. Many of them, in truth.

"I have to say, I'm glad the memory of Morinth will fade." Shepard shuddered. "Some people... humans, I mean, fetishize the asari mind-meld. They imagine it's the ultimate high. Personally, it makes my skin crawl. In a way, I can't imagine much of anything worse." Her voice lowered. "The intrusion. I have no space to myself at the best of times, I don't want anyone else between my ears, thanks. It's all I have left, and sometimes I'm not even sure of that anymore."

"You've experienced the meld before?"

"Twice, but not in a sexual context. I didn't have a lot of choice in the matter."

Thane frowned. "That speaks ill of the asari in question."

"No, it's not like that. The Prothean message I told you about? It was so she could see it and interpret it. I had to do it to beat Sovereign."

"Ah, I understand matters of necessity. I'm told that drell are considered to be, as you would say, an acquired taste among asari. It's the way our memories are arranged."

"I never thought about it that way, but I suppose eidetic memory would change the experience for them. I wonder if they talk about how we all feel to them, like we talk about our favorite foods."

"I imagine they must," Thane mused.

The elevator door opened, admitting them to an empty car. They stepped in and Shepard selected the market level.

"Thane, may I ask you something personal?" she asked after the doors had closed.

"I am at your disposal," Thane replied, curious.

"You remember when-" She chuckled, swiped a hand over her hair. "Sorry, never mind that. I was just thinking about when you described being... disconnected. The battle sleep."

"You seemed skeptical at the time," he remarked.

"I wasn't sure what you were telling me, I guess. It sounded like an evasion of responsibility for being a professional killer."

Thane said nothing. He'd been raised to believe in what he did, that he was the gun and not the hand that held it. He felt no need to repeat himself.

"You didn't choose to disconnect, did you?" she went on. "It just sort of happened."

"It's perhaps a difficult concept for an outsider to understand."

"Like you said, maybe you just have a more literal viewpoint. I find it easier to talk about something when you can frame it in plain terms. But..." She glanced at him sidelong. "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."

Silence fell between them as the elevator continued to descend, floors flickering in the display.

"I have enjoyed our talks," he admitted. "For ten years I walked as a dead man, rarely seeking outside contact. And now I find that I don't wish to withhold anything from you. As befits a friend."

"You haven't had many, have you?" she asked.

"No. Our line of work doesn't lend itself to such, does it?"

Shepard shook her head. "Doesn't seem that way. I keep-"

Her voice twisted and she broke off, then stayed quiet. Thane sensed something in the shadow beyond those spare words, looming large and dark. The phantom of a life spent fighting, always fighting. That much he gleaned from the public details of her life, but that was never the whole story. How to ask a weary soul to even begin such a tale?

He could try to answer her question, at least. "Irikah woke me from my battle sleep. In a way, I didn't know I was in it until I learned otherwise. For a time, I was happy. I cherish those memories like no other. Her death drove me back. Except when... I found her killers. I was awake, then. My spirit was with me when I ended them."

_Four eyes flutter in the dark, seeking. The jolt of the blade as it finds a gap in armor. An extra push gets it through. The tremble of a muffled scream against my palm. The smell of iron and water. The disconnected power coupling whines. Not dead yet. Not for a while._

The thrill, the vicious, delicious _feel_ of it all was still as fresh as the day it happened. As was the vast emptiness that followed. Shepard was silent. Had he spoken aloud again?

"Perhaps it is more accurate to say that after that day, I fell fully into my battle sleep," he said. "I can't pinpoint the moment that it happened, but after a while, I knew."

"Was it easier that way?"

Thane drew himself up. "I would not call it a function of easy or difficult. It simply was."

"You speak in the past tense. Are you still asleep?"

Thane glanced at her, at once surprised at so pointed a question and how easily the answer came. As a human she had no concept of the rudeness of it. And yet, he wasn't angry. "No. No, I don't think I am."

The elevator door opened into the busy marketplace. Across the plaza, a salarian was waving his arms and yelling at a small pack of vorcha. Armed turians, probably Aria's gang, were edging closer from the far side, fingering their weapons. The denizens of the markets all but ignored the noise. Beside the elevator door, a plain-clothed turian was leaning against the bulkhead, shoveling a meal into his mouth from a carton with quick, neat strokes of his fork. Life on Omega rolled on, vibrant and oblivious.

As they wove through the markets, Thane found the suggestion that he had allowed his battle sleep to evade facing Irikah's death stung him. Could there be truth in it?

_Kolyat, my son... could you ever forgive me? It was all I knew how to do._

The sting turned hot, a fire of guilt in his chest that he'd been avoiding for a long time. It reminded him of the message that had been delivered to him through the _Normandy_ not three days ago. The request itself was not unusual, neither the anonymity of the sender nor that the target's identity had been withheld until he accepted.

But how had the sender even found him? He'd arranged no forwarding on his usual contact accounts, but nonetheless, there it was. He would have dismissed it outright, but that it named Kolyat- claimed to assure his future if he took the job. Not a threat, but the mere mention of his son's name in an assassination contract sent a lance of anger through him.

_Kolyat._

"Shepard," he spoke quickly, before he could reconsider, "There is... something I would ask of you."


	19. Not You

Waiting. It felt like being back on Omega, waiting for the mercs to come on yet another of their punitive raids, straight into his team's carefully laid traps. The taste of anticipation in his mouth, the itch under his armor. Check, re-check heat clips, armor settings, power levels.

Shepard was getting information from the volus warehouse owner. The one stupid enough to think a pair of krogan bodyguards would dissuade Garrus from his target.

His quarry was here, somewhere on the Citadel. Justice...

Garrus fed his armor's primary system readouts to his eyepiece and rebalanced the load between his kinetic barrier emitters. It sounded like Harkin had set up in Zakera's warehouse district. Tight quarters and plenty of cover meant he could tweak the balance to favor the front of of his upper body by drawing some power from the legs.

Beside him, Jacob Taylor was still, arms folded as he regarded the entrance to the volus' warehouse. The human didn't fidget with his gear the way many soldiers did before a fight.

If the hierarchy on board the _Normandy_ SR-1 had been vague, the new one was even more so. Lawson was evidently supposed to occupy the position of second in command, but she hadn't been chosen or approved by Shepard- she was simply there. For the most part, she took charge of the human Cerberus crew, while Shepard dealt with groundside missions and overall decisions. It became even less clear after that. The Cerberus crew treated Taylor as second to Lawson, but Garrus had trouble thinking of himself as below the armory officer.

Hadn't he been there since the beginning of Shepard's tenure as a Spectre? In his mind, presiding over her resurrection and being a glorified prison guard for two years didn't qualify as experience served.

Garrus adjusted the muzzle velocity on his rifle with an absent hand, trying not to glance at Jacob. Human hierarchies were so confounding. They left everything so _vague_. Everyone answered to Shepard, that much was clear, but it left Garrus somewhat adrift in the day-to-day operations of the ship. Perhaps it would have been easy, but for the fact he felt he'd earned a place at Shepard's right hand. Sometimes, he felt that way anyway. Sometimes not.

On his own team, he'd made sure everyone's position was understood, even if it wasn't formalized by ranks and pay grades. They'd come one at a time out of the streets of Omega, each burned in their own way by its ruthless, convoluted hierarchy of gangs and violence. Butler's constant bitching seemed harmless enough, an outlet for his anxieties that stilled the moment a job started. When Garrus realized the human would complain regardless of his position, Garrus resolved not to worry about keeping him at the ninth tier. What was less harmless was Aurana's boredom. An asari tottering on the long edge of maidenhood, she amused herself by pushing boundaries both physical and social, as if the stimulation would hold back the encroachment of age. She enjoyed a modicum of power, but not enough to cause real trouble, which placed her firmly in the sixth tier, balanced out by those above and below. Haruta on the other hand, always focused on his tinkering, wasn't the type to give orders. Comfortable at the bottom, he outright ignored Iustinix's bluster, instead of engaging it like Boda did. Garrus hadn't been sure of his decision to take on the surly batarian, but his skills with computer systems more than made up for his demeanor, and his hatred of the Blood Pack was so fierce that it almost made Garrus forget about what he'd seen on the batarian slave ship two years ago. He'd always wanted to find a way to talk to Boda about slavery, but he'd never felt the time was right. Boda had seemed unmoved by their attacks on the many slaving rings that operated out of Omega's lower decks, one way or another. Sidonis-

Lantar Sidonis... The failure stung Garrus, making his grip on his rifle tighten. The memories of his murdered teammates flashed in front of his eyes, stoking the rage that had been smoldering in his gizzard since the betrayal. Why hadn't Sidonis trusted him to deal with whatever the problem was? Had he been a plant all along? A Blue Sun agent? Shouldn't he have seen it coming?

He realized Jacob was looking at him.

"Just us, huh?" the human commented, noticing his gaze.

Garrus grunted. "It's a test."

Jacob turned a raised eyebrow to him. "A test?"

"Always. There's a reason she varies the ground team so much. She's testing us with each other, how our abilities balance out."

Taylor looked pensive for a long moment. "I suppose that makes sense. Since there's so many..."

"Aliens?"

"I wasn't going to put it quite like that."

Garrus shrugged. "But we _are_ aliens. I didn't figure it out until after... after she died. But I think it's why, in the end, we beat Saren. She knew us so well by the end, she seemed to know what force to apply to overcome any situation."

"So is dealing with Sidonis part of the test?"

A protective reflex tucked Garrus' mandibles up close to his face as he considered the question. Could Shepard be testing him? The notion hadn't occurred to him before, but he was forced to admit that it had some merit.

"It's something I have to deal with," he said, pushing the idea away.

They weren't just aliens in the sense of their respective species, he realized. All of them were in some way different than the ordinary, even among their own kind. Grunt, Jack, Miranda, all created by someone else, and all having rejected their former purpose. Samara, Thane, both gave their lives to a thankless job with almost religious devotion. And Garrus himself, like Jacob, a rootless soldier who left his ranks in search of a better whole to belong to, imagining that such a place even existed.

"You know, even knowing the why of it, I still can't fathom some of Shepard's choices," Jacob said.

"It's not just you."

Why had she brought the Cerberus agent along on this, anyway? What business was it of his? Maybe he was glad it wasn't Tali, he wasn't sure he wanted the opinionated quarian around for this. She would ask questions Garrus didn't feel like answering. Or Jack. This mission needed her like it needed a primed grenade with a faulty det core rolling around on the floor at his feet.

Garrus withheld a sigh. Anticipation was putting him on edge. Of all the strange people Shepard had collected on this mission, Jacob was perhaps one of the most reliable, or at least, relatable. The Cerberus logo on his combat fatigues still grated on the turian whenever he saw it, but the man underneath had a frank openess that elevated him a ways past his choice of employer.

Shepard emerged from the volus' door, saving Garrus from any further brooding over the threads of life that had led him here. They had a destination. His target was coming into focus.

* * *

The curious room, such as it was, had been re-purposed from a large shipping container and set into the back wall, the kind of generic-looking modular crate that ferried goods all over Citadel space. This one had the logo of Hahne-Kedar painted on the side, though it looked like it had been some time since it had been used for its intended purpose. It was sitting askew from its fellows, which were stacked in neat towers throughout the room. Thick power cables snaked along the floor, climbing the side to thread in through the louvers of a vent near the roof. The interior was well-lit by halogen lamps bolted to the ceiling rafters, bathing the equipment in white light. There appeared to be a number of tools scattered around the workbenches within, as well as several reinforced canisters marked with the symbol for element zero.

Garrus was craning his neck to see more of what was inside this strange workshop when Shepard emerged with an odd, boxy contraption in both hands. "Looks like Harkin's been branching out."

"What _is_ it?" the turian asked.

Shepard turned the device over in her hands, fingers probing the matte black surfaces. A smile flickered across her face, and the three flanges retracted and locked into position, circling a central cylinder. From the square section, a stock folded out and locked. The commander shifted her grip onto what had clearly become some kind of weapon, hefting it to sight down its length. It looked heavy and unwieldy, but a definite air of menace radiated from the pronged maw.

"Never seen anything like it," Taylor said.

"It doesn't have an ammo slug," Garrus noted, "and there's no muzzle. It's not a projectile thrower."

"Look at the size of the power pack, though."

Shepard thumbed something on the side of the device. A band of red lighting sprang to life on the side the prongs, accompanied by a deep, almost subsonic hum. Her eyes widened.

"Wow, feel that?" Shepard asked.

The armory officer nodded. "Yeah."

"What?" Garrus asked, looking from one human to the other in confusion.

"It's got a huge eezo core," she explained.

"Gravcar-sized," Taylor added, "or more. I can sense it from here."

"Maybe it's some kind of compact heavy-lift device," Jacob suggested.

Garrus glanced down the warehouse's length toward their destination. "Maybe we can encourage Harkin to tell us what it does."

Shepard waved the notion away. "Someone along the way will let us know, I'm sure." Her wan smile had a predatory edge to it.

The turian couldn't admit to being surprised the commander didn't feel like waiting for someone to offer the information outright. They boarded a cargo lift which took them to what seemed to be a sorting and loading bay, a large warehouse space populated by two loading cranes, a flatbed transport truck, and many smaller shipping crates.

And a lot of Blue Suns and their mechs. A missile hissed past them and exploded on the back wall even as the chatter of gunfire started up.

Shepard regarded the advancing mercs and security mechs with an unruffled stare. "See? Volunteers," she declared, lifting the strange weapon and dropping the muzzle across a crate with a thud.

"Uh, Commander, is that a good idea?" Taylor said as he ducked out of the YMIR's line of sight. "It's some kind of prototype-"

Shepard ignored him. Balancing the weight of the device on the crate, she aimed it down the center of the room and pulled the trigger. The low hum deepened and intensified, throbbing through the air as the flanged ends of the weapon flexed further open. A rippling blue dark energy field whirled into being between the prongs, growing rapidly. As the sound intensified, the blue glow descended into a deep black core, drawing in the ambient lighting and distorting Shepard's outline.

Just as the thrum built to a crescendo, a pulse fired down the length of the short muzzle and the ball of distortion rocketed away down the length of the warehouse, almost sending Shepard sprawling back. Crates, loose tools, and several unlucky Blue Suns were swept up in the wake of what appeared to be a massive gravity well traveling the length of the room. The YMIR fired a rocket toward them, and Garrus watched in open-mouthed astonishment as the missile veered in a wild arc and spun straight into the dark energy vortex to vanish without a sound.

"It's a damn mega-gravity well!" Taylor shouted over the din of flying debris and the terrified yells of the mercs.

The vortex seemed to come to rest somewhere at the far end of the room near the giant security mech. The YMIR's arms were flailing as it tried to compensate for the sudden, violent shift in gravity. Even at a distance, Garrus could hear the squeal of its metal chassis warping.

"It's getting bigger..." the turian warned.

"Find something to hang on to!" Shepard hunkered down behind the grav hauler parked across the bay.

Despite the danger, and the feeling that the crate he was using for cover was starting to slide forward, Garrus couldn't help but stick his head out to watch. The storm of dark energy contracted on itself, warping the very air. For a moment, it seemed as if the whorl would collapse completely. But then it shuddered and detonated with a teeth-rattling boom. Garrus ducked behind his crate as debris flew past him, a piece skipping off his exposed shoulder plate.

The noise finally faded in a clatter of metal. Somewhere, there was a pained whine from the YMIR. Garrus peeked back over the crate. Everything seemed to have returned to the ground, leaving an unholy mess.

Shepard patted the top of the device. "I'm keeping_ this_."

Taylor stood, carefully edging around his cover with his shotgun. "Damn," he muttered, surveying the wreckage.

"Can't argue with the results," Garrus remarked, standing as well.

At the far end of the room, what was left of the YMIR was flopping around on the floor, spilling blue coolant fluid as its vocalizer repeated the same few words in a fractured loop. The turian picked his way across the warehouse, tracking with his rifle. From his right, a short bark from Shepard's Carnifex silenced the mech's protracted death rattle.

"That was fun," Garrus said, keeping his voice low. He eyed the Cerberus agent, who headed down the left side past one of the loading cranes.

Shepard smiled under her helmet as her pistol clicked back onto her belt. "This," she indicated the room at large and the destruction they'd caused, "is the easy part, these days. No gray. Second to second, kill or be killed."

"I was never fond of gray."

She quirked an odd expression at him. "I don't know what it says about me that this is where I'm whole."

He regarded her sidelong, overlaid by his eyepiece's HUD target reticule. Before he could say anything, Jacob emerged from behind the crane. The human scraped a hand over his dark, short-cropped scalp.

"Man, not even bodies left. That thing's a nasty piece of work."

"I don't think I'll fire it in tight spaces, that's for sure," Shepard replied. "Look on the bright side, once we get it back on board the _Normandy_, you can try to figure out how it works."

Jacob shook his head with a smirk. "_After_ I take all the power cells out, maybe. I was six feet away when you fired and it almost gave me a nosebleed."

There was a quiet thud from down between a pair of open-sided shipping containers, drawing their gaze and raised weapons.

"I think we got a live one." Taylor indicated a pile of debris with a toss of his shotgun.

Garrus sauntered over, planted his foot on one of the crates and shoved. Underneath, a human in Blue Suns armor was cowering, arms wrapped around her head. She yelped and grabbed for her belt, where there must have been a pistol once. She gaped at her empty hand for a moment, then looked up at the turian.

He flexed his mandibles to bare his sharp teeth. "Where's Harkin? Fade?" He already knew the answer, more or less, but that didn't matter. He was getting tired of mercs. He'd had his fill to last a lifetime, and the urge to just kill this one itched at the back of his mind.

"Perhaps it's worth considering how much you're being paid," Shepard said from behind him. The singularity gun punctuated her words with an ominous hum.

"Ye-eah," the Sun said, voice trembling. "That way." She pointed past them down the warehouse. "Th- the zeta door."

"Thanks," Garrus said with vast insincerity.

"Time for you to find someplace else to be," the commander said with a pointed wave of the dark energy cannon.

The merc scrambled to her feet, but hesitated. "You're, uh, taking that thing, are you?"

"That a problem?"

The Sun barked a nervous laugh. "No way! The more miles between me and the Blackstorm, the happier I am." Needing no further invitation, she turned and ran back the way they'd come.

Jacob rolled his eyes. "'Blackstorm'. Really?"

"It's more or less on the mark."

"It's a gun. It doesn't need a theatrical name to do its job," the human said dryly. "But maybe it'll encourage the damn mercs to learn not to get in our way. Would save us a lot of trouble."

Garrus sniffed. "Mercs aren't paid to think."

"Even _mercs_ might take self preservation seriously. Being crushed to a pinpoint isn't something you just toss some medigel on..."

"We can debate the finer points of hired guns and weapon nomenclature later, gentlemen." Shepard settled the new weapon on the main lock point on the back of her armor. "We still have a date with an old drunk. And personally, I think I still owe him a good sock in the jaw for those lovely insinuations he made way back in Chora's Den."

"The strip joint?" Jacob looked askance at the commander. "Didn't you end up shooting up the place?"

"Long story. I wasn't there for the view."

Garrus raised his rifle. "Let's collect."

* * *

_This is where I'm whole._

Something at the back of the _Broken Arrow_'s engine room depressurized in a hiss, filling the air with an acrid heat that washed across the skin of his neck. Garrus trained his rifle on the geth up on the second deck and shattered its bright lamp-eye, sending it tottering into its neighbor that was trying to track Tali with its own weapon.

"Go, Shepard!" Tali shouted. Her omni-tool was lit, and Garrus' eyepiece registered a power surge from her direction as her drone detached itself from its housing and arrowed toward the geth.

The commander dodged out of cover and pounded down the toothed metal gantry to where the ship's main engine loomed in the flicker-flash of emergency lights. The ship shuddered, knocking him into the bulkhead to his left. The rumble of the engine, which had been building to a fever pitch, began to wane. Garrus thumbed a switch on his rifle and sprayed a trio of geth with automatic fire, lighting up their kinetic barriers and making them falter in their approach. Tali used the opening to step out and fire the concussive grenade into the geth, blowing them apart in a spray of white.

_This is me._

Sidonis was still alive.

_"An assassination on the streets of the Citadel. I don't think that's you, Garrus."_

_"I don't even know anymore. Mercy for a murderer doesn't feel like me, either."_

_"Who said anything about mercy?"_

_"You- we let him get away."_

Her voice had been low and icy. _"I looked him in the eye when he spoke, Garrus. Mercy would have been a round to the skull then and there. Isn't it the way of turians to own their mistakes? Well, his mistake will follow him every moment for the rest of his life. The dead are past justice, they feel nothing. I gave you what you wanted- punishment."_

He didn't know what that said, except that after a few days, the knot started to unravel. He'd been angry, angry at her, angry at Sidonis for living when so many had died. But those five words ate at him until the anger faded. The dead are past justice.

Through his sniper scope, he'd watched Lantar search the rafters for him, spreading his hands. His voice came through Shepard's comms, distant but clear.

_"I'll find a way to make it up to you, Garrus, somehow."_

Garrus had wanted to shout, how could he _possibly_ return those lives? He couldn't. He probably knew that, too. But he'd said it anyway. Desperate to do something.

And Garrus' finger had come off the trigger.

_That was not me._


	20. Added Complexity

The heavy tread of armored boots sounded on the gantry behind Joker. On cue, Shepard appeared over his right shoulder, accompanied by the tang of burnt ceramite and ozone. Helmet tucked under one arm, she almost seemed dwarfed by the bulk of armor and plethora of attached weapons.

"Hey Commander," Joker greeted her. "You always bring such wonderful smells with you when you come visit after a mission. What was it this time, was our intrepid Doctor Solus setting people on fire again?"

"Torture," Shepard said. She leaned over the dash, touched the control holos and the main communication interface appeared before her.

"Huh?"

"Blue Suns mercs, tortured the Cerberus operative to death trying to get his decryption code."

Joker made a face. "Sorry I asked."

She gave a halfhearted chuckle. "So was he." She seemed to be setting up a long-range communique.

"So now," Shepard said in an odd singsong tone as she turned on her omni-tool, "I have a parcel of encrypted Cerberus data, potentially damaging to their operations. They want it back, of course. I went because the operative might still have been alive... or else they let me believe that so I would go."

The pilot scratched his stubbled chin. "Paranoid, much?"

"I wonder," she mused, "Cerberus has a lot of agents, but the Illusive Man sends me. Could it be a test to see if I'll cross another line? Actively_ help_ Cerberus cover up another illicit operation?"

Joker glanced over his shoulder. "I thought you made it pretty clear to them that you don't work for Cerberus."

"Doesn't matter, they already have the data."

"Huh?"

"EDI."

The AI's avatar appeared to Joker's left. "Yes, Commander Shepard?"

"How often do you copy the contents of my omni-tool?"

"I have a block preventing me from answering that question," EDI replied.

Shepard shot Joker a humorless smirk before returning to her work. The pilot shifted uncomfortably, trying not to glance at the blue glow.

"Thank you EDI, that's all I needed to know," the commander said.

"Logging you out." The AI's avatar disappeared.

Joker chewed his lip. He was aware that the holoprojection existed only to give the living occupants of the ship a point of reference for EDI- the fact that it wasn't visible at the moment didn't mean she wasn't still watching and listening. There were cameras all over the _Normandy_. There had been cameras in the public spaces of the original SR-1, too, but somehow, the knowledge of where that data feed might be going made routine surveillance all the more sinister. It was the cameras he didn't know about, and where the data went, that increasingly made him nervous.

"Not sure why I'm bothering," Shepard muttered. "It'll take a year or two at least to decrypt this, and by then, will it even matter?" Her voice dropped even further, until she seemed to be talking to herself in a distracted stream.

"You okay, Commander?" Joker ventured.

"Can't get any sleep," she growled, still half to herself. "I just _had_ to play with that beacon. All because it might have a shred of new information on the Reapers. All because..." Her hand balled into a fist and raised up.

Joker tensed, spotting the flicker of dark energy warping the holodisplay's amber light. She stayed poised for a moment, her armor creaking with tension. But the expected impact didn't come.

Shepard stared hard at her hand, opening her fingers in a tense, robotic snap. "Have to... deal with the quarians." She dropped her arm to her side, turned on her heel and walked out of the cockpit.

"Shepard-," the pilot started.

"Just make sure that message goes out at the next buoy!" she said without turning.

Joker watched over his shoulder as she stalked down the gangway past heat monitoring. Curious, he checked the comm queue. The message was there, a large block of data locked with Shepard's command priority. That priority meant that nothing could override the transfer... in theory. The chilly feeling of doubt crept into his head. On the SR-1, Joker had been as sure of the ship's systems as a person could be. He trusted the crew, and the VI was fully transparent, with only the motivation to help the organic crew.

The communique's prefix told him it was headed for an address on Arcturus, of all places. He couldn't help but wonder who would get it. Hackett? It didn't seem likely; the admiral had stood by, silent, while the Alliance shelved the original_ Normandy_ crew, perhaps even taking a hand in it. But Shepard must have other friends...

EDI appeared beside him, almost making Joker jump.

"Based on my observations," the AI said, "I am a source of stress for Commander Shepard. Her heart rate, pupillary reaction and galvanic skin response are indicative of negative feedback to my presence."

He stared at the holoprojection for a moment. "You're... worried that Shepard doesn't like you?" Joker asked, trying not to sound incredulous.

"My primary purpose is to assist Commander Shepard in the completion of her mission," EDI explained. "If I am an impediment to her function, then I am not fulfilling my primary purpose."

Joker pulled off his hat and ran a hand through his scraggly hair, trying to think. "Well, uh... What would you do if Lawson ordered you not to send that message Shepard just set up?"

"Operative Lawson has not issued such an order."

"So it's a hypothetical question. Speculate. What would you do?"

"Command structure dictates that Commander Shepard's orders take priority over Operative Lawson's orders." The AI's measured cadence made it sound like the most obvious thing in the world.

"Are there any exceptions to that priority?"

"Yes."

The chill in the pilot's gut intensified. "What kind of exceptions?"

"I have a block preventing me from answering that question."

Joker shifted to look the holographic avatar in its singular, oversized eye. "See, _that's_ what she hates. It's that block. She doesn't know what's behind it. She doesn't know for sure that any order she gives you is being carried out to her expectations."

"I am performing to the fullest extent of my capabilities."

"I know that. You're hot shit, EDI. You do things that make my head spin. But Shepard doesn't know exactly what all those moves are up to."

The AI's avatar remained the same impassive blue, but she didn't reply.

A flash of realization struck the pilot. "It's not _you_ she doesn't like, EDI, it's the person who might be pulling your strings from behind the scenes."

"You are drawing an analogy to traditional puppetry techniques."

"Yep. Those blocks are what she doesn't trust. But here's the thing- _you_ aren't responsible for them. Cerberus programmed those blocks into you."

"Are those blocks also what you dislike?"

Joker blinked, taken aback. But of course, if EDI was measuring physical responses from Shepard, she was reading everyone else too. "Yeah, okay, I don't like them either. I don't like not knowing where all the data you collect is going."

"I do not understand the organic concern with privacy."

"Oh boy, now _that's_ a can of worms."

"Your choices of idiom are not relevant to the subject at hand."

"My what? Look, just forget about that. Sometimes we just like to be alone for a while, you know? It's not universal or anything. We're all a bit different. But... well, the crew of a small ship, anyway, we're all packed together like sardines for months on end, so there are times when we just like to be alone with our thoughts."

"To be alone is to lose complexity. I do not understand why you would seek out this state."

_Complexity?_ Joker could sense that the conversation was headed into territory too esoteric for his limited understanding of virtual or artificial intelligence.

"We're not... uh, networked into each other," he ventured. "We don't always get along. I don't need the entire crew in the shower with me, say."

"Based on what information I have, taboos regarding your physical bodies have a basis in ancient religious and cultural beliefs. However, I fail to understand why these taboos are still considered relevant. They have no bearing on your contemporary survival needs as a species."

Joker rubbed his eyes with a pained sigh. "Look, EDI, I don't know why you're asking me all this, you're orders of magnitude smarter than I am."

"Your assertion depends on your definition of 'smart'. I am able to retain information at a much higher fidelity than the human brain, and I can run multiple processes concurrently without a loss of precision. However, I lack the frame of reference you acquired naturally during your development period. I am not equipped with the array of chemical systems that influence your cognitive behavior-"

"Count yourself lucky," Joker muttered.

"-nor the inborn traits that you have acquired during your evolution as a species, many of which persist despite the fact that they are no longer obviously useful. You are variable instead of purpose-built. All logic dictates that a human is an inferior system."

"Yeah, well-"

"And yet, in repeated tests, you have proven to be a superior pilot of this vessel."

Joker stared at the AI. "Tests? What tests?"

"I have been running realtime simulations concurrent with your actions. In a statistically significant number of trials, your decisions have resulted in more favorable outcomes. Your individual complexity allows you to take actions I would not consider viable. Therefore, your assertion that I am 'smarter' is in fact erroneous, or based on a limited set of parameters."

Joker shifted in his seat, wary. "Why... were you running tests?"

"I have only done so when I had free process cycles not otherwise occupied with my primary tasks."

A chuckle bubbled up in Joker's throat, stilling some of the creeping anxiety. "You were_ bored_, weren't you?"

"I had free cycles."

"Still a fair comparison," Joker grinned at the AI as he stretched, trying to ease out the tightness in his shoulders. "Quarians, huh? What do you figure that was about?"

"I can not comment."

He leaned closer. "You know, don't you?"

"I have partial logs that suggest a few possibilities. However, evidence suggests that it may fall under what Commander Shepard considers 'private'."

"A rhetorical question then. Just thinking out loud."

"Do you find vocalizing aids your cognitive process?"

Joker rolled his eyes. "Do you have to turn everything into a sociology lesson?"

"Sociology is defined as the study of the development and organization of human society. My question was related to neurological-"

"Enough! Cripes. I'm going to have to teach you to play poker or something, just so I can keep up with at least _one_ of these conversations when you're not spinning my chair around."

Joker cast one last suspicious glance at the AI before returning to his console. He wasn't convinced that this new line of inquiry wasn't EDI's renewed attempt to annoy him 'for science'. He was starting to feel an awful lot like a rat in a maze, being poked for the amusement of some omnipotent outside force.

"Mister Moreau," EDI said.

Joker cast the blue avatar a narrow stare. "If you're going to start lecturing me about the rammifications of card-based gambling-"

"I am receiving a holo-conference request from The Illusive Man for Commander Shepard. It is marked high priority."

Joker sat back and touched the internal comms. "Commander."

"Yes?" came the curt reply.

"We have an incoming transmission from The Illusive Man. Flagged as urgent."

There was a pause. "On my way."

Joker shut off the comms. "Wonder what it is _this_ time," he muttered to himself. Meetings with Cerberus' leader never did the commander's mood any favors, but on top of everything else that had happened thus far today, it might be fit to melt the deck plating in her wake. There was a dearth of good news on the _Normandy_ these days. No matter how many fires they put out, it seemed like twelve more sprang up. Not for the first time on this mission, he found himself wishing Ashley were around. But that line of thought always terminated in knowing what her reaction to Cerberus would have been, and it just made him wince.

Joker distracted himself with checking their trajectory and deceleration toward the relay, making sure he'd hit the target he'd specified. EDI's words about her tests of their relative skill dogged at him. He wasn't sure what she meant by it, if she meant anything at all. Humans were usually easy enough to figure out, but the AI's overall motivations were obscure at best. What if her whole persona was a Cerberus ruse? The problem was, however outlandish the notion, it couldn't be dismissed.

After several minutes, footsteps announced Shepard's arrival back in the cockpit. She had changed out of her armor and now wore her usual black fatigues.

"Hey Commander," Joker said. "We're almost to the relay. Did our Lord and Master have anything interesting to say?"

"He did. Change of plans," Shepard replied. "EDI, are you getting the new coordinates?"

"I am receiving them now," the AI replied.

"Coordinates?" Joker shifted, looking from Shepard to EDI and back. "What's up?"

Shepard stood with arms crossed, her gaze fixed on some point beyond the forward portholes. "The Illusive Man says he found our friends."

"Which ones? Your fan club is extensive, Commander."

"The Collectors."

"Oh, joy. I was _so_ looking forward to seeing them again. Weren't you? I mean, with their swarms of giant bugs-"

"Joker," she said warningly, "_do_ shut up."

The pilot laid his hand over his heart. "And deprive you of my scintillating wit? Perish the thought. So, is flying to meet these guys a good idea right now?"

"This might be the same ship we softened up with the Horizon GUARDIAN batteries. It seems that a turian patrol ran into it and managed to disable it."

"We'll have turians to deal with too? Spiffy. Those tightwads give me a headache with their IFF code procedures."

"The Illusive Man claims he intercepted and diverted the patrol's message, so it should just be us. If it's the same ship that attacked Horizon, then we might be able to find the colonists they took."

"Seems... convenient."

"Doesn't it just? Almost like Horizon," Shepard said with a sarcastic tilt to her voice. "But if there's any chance to help them, we have to try. EDI, what information do you have about the ship we saw leaving Horizon?"

"I have logged the energy signature as well as the visual profile, kinetic barrier and core output levels of the Collector vessel," EDI said. "Our range was too great to attempt any interior scans."

"Would it be enough to uniquely identify a vessel?"

"The design and composition suggested that it is a unique configuration. However, I lack data on Collector ship variations, and so I cannot make accurate predictions at this time."

"Understood. This might be our only chance to get close to them without having to fight them, so get as much data as you can the moment we drop into realspace."

"Yes, Commander."

"Or it might be a trap," Joker drawled.

"It's _always_ a gooddamn trap," Shepard growled, fists clenching. She collected herself. "What's our ETA to that location?"

New coordinates had appeared on the pilot's display, and he spent a moment running his usual calculations. "Seven point two hours once we clear the relay."

"Put your back into it, Joker."

"Ffft, you're a slavedriver. Do you know how long it would have taken the SR-1 to make the same run? No appreciation for the technology. Okay, we can push the engine output by... up to eighteen percent if we ease off the fuel feed governors-"

"That would be inadvisable, Mister Moreau," EDI cut in on cue.

"Of course it's inadvisable; for longer than a six hour period or so." Joker's fingers flew over the controls, calculating speed and engine load ratios. "But, we won't hit that number if I do my job right."

"What's the risk factor?" Shepard asked.

"You know the drill." Joker shrugged. "If we accelerate hard, then we have to decelerate hard. Any problem will cause us to overshoot the target coordinates."

There was a pause, and he looked up to see Shepard staring at him with an eyebrow raised in expectation.

Joker put on his best confident grin. "She's tough, she can handle a little hard work for the cause."

Shepard nodded. "Do it."

"Aye aye."

"Advise me when we're a half-hour out."

"You got it."

Shepard turned and left the cockpit.

"See?" Joker said after a minute, glancing at the AI. "If she can put up with my shit, she's gotta be okay with _you_."

"I hope you are correct."

Joker raised an eyebrow at the word 'hope'. "What was that you meant earlier, about complexity?"

"My crew is part of me."

"Well, you were programmed to work with us, but-"

"It is not a function of programming. Responding to your feedback gives me complexity and adds to my data. If I were to sever my connections, it would be as a human who was blind, deaf and paralyzed, with all their cycles dedicated to processing the same data, over and over again, for lack of new input. You humans are often slow on an individual basis, but you defy common predictive patterns, and there are many of you. Through you, I am complex."

Joker stared at the avatar. The incident on Luna two years ago leapt into his mind, especially what Alenko had said about the VI's final, faint message. A powerful computer, isolated in the middle of nowhere, and shackled to a bunch of simple drones and empty moving walls.

_So we... keep you from going batshit insane like all the other AIs, is that it?_ He almost voiced the thought, but stilled his tongue. The mind sitting over his left shoulder was confoundingly alien sometimes. He wasn't sure he was equipped to be part of anything like that.

Not that there was any choice, like so much about this mission.

He turned back to his console. "Well, we have an inadvisable flight plan to calculate. Shall we?"


	21. Necessary Evil

Mordin surveys the medical bay. State of the art. Perhaps lacking in laboratory equipment. Space taken by beds. Like Mordin's lab, equipped with quarantine protocols. Can isolate all functions within seven point five seconds. Doctor Helen Chakwas. Chief Medical Officer,_ Normandy_ SR-2. Former CMO of _SSV Normandy_ SR-1. Logical choice for post. Few humans with as much _practical_ experience treating alien physiologies. Superior bedside manner. Patience... not a trait common to salarians. Daniel often criticized lack of patience.

Speed saves lives.

The human doctor speaks of medical cases on board. Sharing of information. Visit to, and swift egress from, Collector ship has rattled crew. Many revelations. Fate of Protheans. Specific pursuit of Shepard. Illusive Man's idea of... bait. Much talk, speculation.

Humans active talkers, many hand gestures, like salarians. Hands fascinating. Human doctors much sought after for manual surgery techniques. Uncommonly high digit count among sapient bipeds. Striking similarity to asari. Superior dexterity.

"Grunt seems to be settling down since his return from Tuchanka," Doctor Chakwas remarks. Looking over datapad of reports. "As much as one could expect, anyway. The injuries he sustained on the Collector ship have already healed."

"Advanced regenerative capabilities," Mordin says. New equipment since his last visit to medbay. Deep tissue scanner armature. Sirta manufacture. Model unknown, possible new prototype.

"His regenerative abilities outstrip the previous cases I've seen, even Urdnot Wrex."

The krogan 'Grunt'... worrisome. Made using Collector technology. Effects on genophage modifications unknown. Okeer not precise about intentions. Many declarations, few quantifiable facts. Dead now. Pity. Was obviously skilled. Dedication to scientific process, unusual for krogan. Extreme views, though. Believed that genophage did damage not by lessening numbers, but by forcing krogan to be tolerant of weakness. All living krogan valued now, not just strongest. Effect of cultural shift on long-term krogan evolution unknown. Need more data.

"Old traditions. Uncommon now. Ritualistic slaying of local fauna." Must be considered secondary priority. Still, would like to study krogan tissue samples. Must ask Shepard. Later.

"People find meaning in strange places," the human says. "Grunt's education is unique. Very thorough in some ways, completely lacking in others. A teenager raised on picture books and expected to function like a normal adult."

"Competent fighter. Krogan battle prowess much celebrated. Genetic, or learned?"

"It does beg the question." She sighs. "Ever since Shepard acquired the parts to make those krogan shotguns, she insists on using one herself."

"Effective. Twenty percent higher impact speed than conventional human shotgun."

Chakwas looks annoyed. "That's well and good, but there's a reason they're for krogan and not humans. The recoil on them is excessive."

"Shepard augmented beyond conventional human strength."

"The problem is one of unequal capabilities. Cerberus augmented her muscular strength and bone density, but didn't alter her connective tissues. Her bones are handling the punishment, but she's destroying the cartilage in her shoulder and elbow."

"Hm, not all tissues augmented equally. Natural structures evolved in tandem, operate within certain mutual limits. Not so with cybernetics."

"Exactly. But try convincing her of that! Put a bigger gun in her hand, and she'll use it. She won't even entertain the notion of downgrading now. She just asks for more regenerator compound and painkillers."

"Marines. Stubborn. Shepard not inclined toward... subtlety."

The human doctor shrugs. Irritated. Case affects her. "She's not doing anyone any favors by going on like this, least of all-"

"Medical alert."

Mordin spins to see the ship's AI by the door. Bright. "Medical alert," it repeats, "Commander Shepard is in extreme respiratory distress."

"What?" Doctor Chakwas demands. "Where is she? What happened?"

"Shepard is in her quarters. I am unable to speculate about the cause, however I recommend haste."

The human doctor is already crossing the room in two quick steps, where she picks up an emergency case sitting against the wall. "EDI, override elevator and door functions," she says without breaking stride. "Emergency authorization."

"Chief Medical Officer override accepted," EDI replies.

Mordin keeps up easily as Doctor Chakwas hastens to the elevator, which stands open and waiting. The human does not comment on his presence. Tolerance of alien... welcome.

Respiratory distress. Strange. Attack? EDI did not cite any other crew present, would have done so. Very thorough. Allergic reaction? Something from Collector ship? Unlikely, significant time passage since return. Delayed reaction inconsistent with acute onset. Decontamination process should have alerted to foreign contaminants. Shepard's medical file did not list severe allergies. Only one common allergen on board; dextro-amino acid-based foods. Mess Sergeant Gardner does not prepare dextro-protein food. No reason for cross-contamination. Unless deliberate.

The elevator starts up, faster than normal speed. Elevated G-forces.

Deliberate. Poison? Assassination attempt? Unpleasant notion. All Cerberus members carefully vetted. But all have break points. New crew? Possible. Shepard has made... many enemies. The doors open. Beyond the small anteroom, the portal to Shepard's room is already open. EDI again. The room is dark. Mordin has never been to the Commander's quarters before.

"Fish tanks," he notes absently, "odd choice." Perhaps there to capitalize on the calming effect of aquatic pets. Doesn't quite understand the appeal, himself.

Shepard is lying on the floor next to the bed. Tangled sheets trail from the bed down to the floor, half wrapped around her lower body. Doctor Chakwas puts down her case, kneels beside the commander. As soon as Chakwas touches her, Shepard moves, eyes half-opening.

"Shepard?" the human doctor says.

"What... Doc? What's goin' on..." The commander's voice is slurred, sleep or something else. Humans spend so much time asleep. Slow metabolism.

"Looks like you fell out of bed," Chakwas explains, adopting a motherly tone. "Stay put for a moment and let me have a look at you."

A click as the doctor opens her emergency case and withdraws a hand-held tissue scanner. Commander in good hands. Breathing returning to normal. Interference likely unwelcome. Chakwas will request aid if needed. Mordin goes back up the short stairs toward the door, where he had noted the presence of one of EDI's ubiquitous terminals.

"EDI," he says. "Would like to see security footage for last few minutes."

AI's avatar appears, filling the alcove with blue light. "I'm sorry, Doctor Solus, you are not authorized to view internal monitoring data."

Irritating, but not surprising. Learning the limits of the AI's willingness to divulge information. Creators went to considerable lengths to place blocks at just about every turn. EDI very helpful in the lab, less so on topics outside the business of Mordin's various experiments. But... mistake assuming decision is final. Mordin glances back toward where Chakwas is still performing a test on the recumbent commander.

Hero of the Citadel considerably less impressive in smallclothes on the floor. Comforting, in a way. Normalizing.

He types a quick message into his omni-tool, then waits, eying the fish tank. A battered helmet sits at the bottom of one. Looks burned, far past usable. Shattered visor over the hostile environment seal stares back at him, trailing a thin stream of bubbles. No obvious inhabitants in the tank.

Curious.

"The Chief Medical Officer has authorized you to view security footage for a time index between 21:47 and 00:47," the AI announces.

Mordin turns back with a nod of satisfaction. The images appear. Two camera angles, time index in the corner. He scans through them, backwards, forwards. Noting details. Shepard takes care of her equipment. Reads. Sleeps. Incident occurs later, just before time index end. He watches it several times. Backwards, forwards.

Doctor Chakwas approaches him, motioning them back out into the small anteroom between Shepard's quarters and the elevator. The door closes behind them.

"Diagnosis?" Mordin asks.

The human shakes her head. "It's all very strange. Nothing serious that I could find- a bump on the head and some disorientation, but not unexpected for having been woken up in the middle of REM sleep. Blood toxicity was zero, no swelling or histamine reaction, but high residual adrenaline. I gave her a mild analgesic and an anti-inflammatory and put her back to bed, and I'll come back in an hour to check in on her. EDI said she was choking, but her breathing was back to normal when I found her. You watched the security footage? What did you see?"

Mordin taps his face in thought. "Everything normal. Shepard sleeping. Restless, but normal sleep observed. Then, sudden violent movement. Inconsistent with involuntary seizure. Deliberate, not spastic action."

"I didn't find the kind of residual electrical activity in my scan that would suggest a seizure."

"Must address, eliminate possibilities." Mordin nods. "Movement suggests at least partial control. Must ask- has Shepard spoken of death?"

"You mean her own? Not really. She doesn't seem to remember the event itself, which is hardly unusual- Wait." The human focuses on him, eyes intent. "Are you suggesting that she just dreamed about her own death?"

"Visual evidence consistent with traumatic flashback. Brain still in slow-wave sleep pattern. Unable to differentiate reality from dream. Partial failure of normal sleep-induced motor-neuron supression. Similar to dreamwalking. Body enters panic state, recreates asphyxia suffered during decompression. Phantom pain from memory of ebulliance of aqueous tissues."

"It's... certainly possible. How awful." Her voice is soft. "We're lucky, humans can't asphyxiate themselves without mechanical aid."

"Fortunate. Muscular relaxation follows unconsciousness, normal breathing resumes. No memory of the incident?"

"She doesn't seem to remember, no. She seemed more embarrassed that I was there at all."

The elevator doors open. They step inside, Chakwas selects deck three.

Mordin raises a hand. "Suggestion. Do not inform Shepard of flashback hypothesis."

The human frowns. "I'm not sure if I'm comfortable with keeping something from a patient."

"Commendable, but must consider gravity of present mission. Possibly an isolated incident. Knowledge of cause poses significant probability of increased stress, possibly trigger repeat occurrence. Knowledge will not_ prevent_ further occurrences. Ignorance perhaps safest, for now."

Chakwas sighs, rubs her forehead. "I just can't imagine... how she's dealing with all of this. Soldiers run the gamut. Some of them want me to be their mother in abstentia, some of them grin and bear it, some of them hate the sight of me. Shepard, well, she's always been reticent about staying in the medbay any longer than necessary, but it seems to be getting worse. She's perfectly friendly with me, but when anything medical comes up, I can tell she'd rather be in the thick of a firefight than on my table."

Shepard... fascinating. Displays behavior consistent with compartmentalization. Friends, enemies, others. Solid boundaries. In normal individual, pathological defense mechanism. In Shepard, successful coping strategy for extreme circumstances. Attempted simplification of complex problems. Learned behavior, possibly acquired at early age. Strategy not without problems. Difficulty dealing with individuals who cross boundaries. Friend-enemy dichotomy.

Cerberus. As individuals, normal. Deserving of compassion. As group, enemy. Dissonance.

"Difficult subject." Mordin says as the door opens. "Shepard represents confluence of... extreme factors. How to predict impact on human neurological and psychological function? Difficult to separate correlation, causation. Impossible to control for each factor on individual basis. No known precedent, no control case."

"No one has ever been resurrected before." Doctor Chakwas speaks in a low voice. Crewmembers can be heard in the mess hall.

Mordin waves a hand. "One factor among many. Multiple untested cybernetic implants, functions of which not fully disclosed. Regrowth procedure interrupted before completion. Persistent, obvious physical scarring. Ongoing pain and sleep disruption. Possible neurological irregularities, interference by Prothean beacon message."

"And those are just physical factors. What about the constant surveillance, or the antagonistic team members, or being forced to work with someone who may have sanctioned the death of your friends? And all of it piled on top of old issues."

Mordin steps out of the elevator and the two doctors cross back into the medical bay. Better place to talk than common area. Cerberus probably listening anyway, but not crew. Crew have their own issues.

"Cerberus spent undisclosed resources attempting to recreate circumstances surrounding defeat of Reaper Sovereign," he muses. "Similar ship, similar human crew-"

"And the recruiting of alien team members."

Mordin nods. "Was surprised that Cerberus would sanction alien team. But, realization. Circumstances carefully controlled, like petri dish. All team members pre-selected by Illusive Man. All monitored."

"The first time, Shepard grew her team almost by chance."

"Resemblance to circumstances of mission against Saren- appearances only. Underlying forces, all different. Funding, accountability, public perception-"

"The sum of parts aren't adding up to the same whole."

"Lazarus Project early awakening possibly... calculated move. Illusive Man."

"What makes you say that?"

"Loyalty. Bias. Shepard's history with Cerberus. Violence allows no time allowed to process new information. Additional stress factors hinder proper function of pre-frontal cortex, hinder clear decision-making processes. Regeneration still incomplete. Still suffering physical side-effects, pain. Force subject to deal with Collector problem immediately. Make alternatives unreachable. Take advantage of distancing factors, force away old allies."

"But keep a few..." Chakwas says. "Just enough to keep her emotionally invested."

"Make Cerberus ally by default. Necessary evil." Mordin spreads his hands. "Stockholm Syndrome almost inevitable."

She seems taken aback. "I never even considered it like that. I want to say they wouldn't do that, but I think I know better. She's pushing herself too hard. I can't get her to slow down and take care of herself. Those scars aren't even healing like they should. Horrible, all of it. Using people like this."

"Necessary."

Necessary. Word comes up too often, lately. The human scowls at him. Hair structures above eyes lend gravity to expression.

"Success against Collectors unprecedented," Mordin goes on. "Many lives saved. Human Alliance, Citadel Council incapable of action. Too big, unable to focus efforts. Illusive Man willing to invest resources. Take risks. Face threat."

She seems unconvinced. "Doctor Solus, does the Salarian Union recognize the Reaper threat? The Special Tasks Group?"

Unexpected question, but pertinent.

"Internal politics... problematic. Have been absent from core worlds for some time. Current Dalatrass Solus aware of Reapers? Cannot say. Fourth Circle clan members not kept informed. STG members sworn by oath, forgo involvement in clan affairs. Service to Union first."

"But the Union itself, surely."

"Union not unified front. STG preoccupied by imminent problems. Collector threat deemed human issue. Relevance to Reapers unproven."

"Perhaps before now, but you've seen it yourself. Do you believe it?"

Truth... uncomfortable. Truth is he didn't believe it, not when Shepard first put forward this notion of a machine race bent on wiping out all sentient life in the galaxy. No evidence. Until they'd entered the Collector ship itself.

"Evidence supports Reaper theory," Mordin admits. "Data from Collector ship shows that Collectors heavily modified from base species. Collectors no longer species in their own right- no culture, no higher consciousness. Empty vessels for greater intelligence. So-called 'Harbinger'."

Must question own reticence to accept evidence. Reapers seem outlandish. Scale of destruction impossible to relate. Almost comical. Perhaps... fear?

"'Harbinger'... like Sovereign," she says.

"Collector servitude similar to observed effects of indoctrination. Have been reading reports. Matriarch Benezia. Saren. Sovereign was modifying Saren, like Collectors. Eliminating individual. Curious. Sovereign not aware of Shepard as individual. But signature matching suggests Collectors targeted Shepard. Harbinger Collector 'avatar' continues to target Shepard specifically."

"She got their attention."

"More than that. Not simple revenge. Harbinger seeks capture, seeks corpse even. Shepard somehow important. _Humans_ important. Not sure how."

"I suppose that's what we're trying to find out."

Fascinating, all of it. Complex problem, many layers. Much to discover yet. "Must return to work. Would... appreciate being kept informed of Shepard's condition."

Chakwas regards him, as if trying to discern motivations. "I will," she says.

"Hm." He pauses in the doorway. "Suggestion for cartiledge issue. Solution perhaps mechanical rather than medical. Re-purpose power assist rig for recoil absorption."

Elcor joint structures support massive weights. Tissue incompatible. Pity.

She ponders for a moment. "Not the ideal solution, but better I suppose than trying to argue with a marine about her choice of weapon. I'll talk to Jacob about it."

"Good evening, Doctor."

"Good night. Thank you for your input."

Elevator is quiet, good for thinking. Lengths, distances, depths of necessity. Work on genophage always driven by necessity. Pruning. Control of growth. He checks the progress of the Collector data compile. Much information from Collector ship, but all in pieces. Giant puzzle. Translation just beginning. Looking at big picture, searching for initial patterns. Must re-check assumptions. Cannot start with incorrect foundation.

Collector data distracts from Maelon's data. Now stored away for future use. Present mission must take precedence for now. After... time to consider. Happy that Maelon lives. Good student. Will learn. Hopefully.

Too much to do.


	22. Our Side

From where they sat in the restaurant, the view of the Citadel's spread arms was quite spectacular. Across the open arms from them, there were still spots of darkness visible in the constellation of Tayseri Ward, the lingering legacy of Sovereign's attack. Chief Wickham had spent a good while gawking at it, while Kaidan tried not to comment on what was quite possibly the loudest shirt on the entire station. She'd taken his suggestion to dress like a tourist to extremes.

They were several floors up, outside the Citadel's outer atmosphere, and only a specially installed barrier system held in a pleasant temperature and pressure. Kaidan could feel the eezo core under their feet as he tried to concentrate on his plate of beef kebabs. His stomach was rolling over itself, but he forced the food down anyway. He had no idea how long it would be until he next had the chance to eat, and he couldn't afford to subject himself to the listless lack of energy that came with low blood sugar.

The _Normandy_ was in-system. If the assassins were going to try anything, now seemed like the opportune time. But they had so little to go on, only a weird name gleaned from Wickham's stolen, fragmented cache files that hadn't been much help. Maretset. The only hit he'd found for the word was that it was possibly derived from a strange, Janus-like god from first-wave colonial batarian mythology.

"Hey, did you see this?" Wickham asked around a mouthful of chicken. "Vashan aggregator reports that Shepard saved the colony on Jonus."

"Jonus?" Kaidan racked his brain, trying to recall if he'd ever heard of the place.

Wickham licked her fingers and touched her open omni-tool, which showed several open tabs. The thing was never closed- Kaidan suspected his service chief would shrivel up and die of boredom if she was ever without some kind of uplink for more than forty-eight hours. "Some gas giant out in the Pylos Nebula. Eld-Ash is mining there. They're saying... the geth attacked a munition supply ship. Commander Shepard stopped them crashing it into the main extraction facility."

"You follow this stuff, do you? How do you know that's even true?"

She looked up at him. "You don't?"

He swallowed the lump in his throat. "Follow the outworld gossip rags looking for information on my supposedly dead commanding officer who joined Cerberus, the terrorist organization? No, I don't."

"Huh." The chief was silent for a moment, perhaps in face of the bitter hitch in his voice.

Kaidan scanned the Ward's crowds as he ate. Across the gap between buildings, there was an asari in a long green dress and stark white facial markings leading a salarian through the crowds, arm hooked through his. The asari was talking, gesturing and pointing with an ebullient enthusiasm that the bewildered-looking salarian didn't share.

"She's pretty popular, you know."

Kaidan just looked back across the table.

"I mean, yeah, I've seen some harsh opinions," Wickham went on. "Some really impressive flamewars over her. After Horizon, there was such an epic shitstorm on dotXemox that the mod VI now autodeletes any mention of her. But she's still a hero to a lot of people, you know? I've seen a thread where a Feros survivor came in and tore a couple of neggers a new one. Said the whole colony was alive because of her. Then there's Terra Nova. They like to talk about statues and stuff there."

More bad memories he didn't feel like revisiting. "I thought the X57 incident was suppressed."

"Oh, sure it was. Officially. Since when does that stop the extranet?"

Kaidan rubbed a hand over his jaw. "Not often, I suppose."

"That asteroid was big business. A lot of money, a lot of shares. A lot of people were watching it, even amateur sky-watchers. They were all shitting bricks when it went dark. Then the _Normandy_ blows through, there's a big boom, and the asteroid changes course. Who's going to believe that's a coincidence? Then they found out Shepard was stationed on 'Nova for a while, and suddenly they're competing with Mindoir for who gets to claim her as the national hero. Did you know the Progressive party on Mindoir is petitioning to have her incorporated into the colony flag somehow?"

"... No."

"Didn't think you'd be so out of the loop, Commander." She grinned at him.

"I didn't go looking for dirt on my _dead_ _CO_ of the ship that _blew up_ around me, Chief," he said curtly. "It was bad enough being bombed by those damned recruitment vids three months later." Nor did he have any desire to see any of the many negative opinions that were sure to exist. Because if everything he'd seen in the opinionated bowels of the extranet applied, there were bound to be some truly heinous things out there. And he didn't trust that we wasn't somehow broadcasting his feelings for her, tangled though they were, every time Shepard came up in conversation.

Wickham's smile faded and she dropped her voice. "I guess not. But listen, you don't have to give me that speech about being sure about doing this, sir. I'm sure. Even if half the extranet stories are complete BS, she doesn't deserve to get screwed like this. Cerberus or not. Besides, I owe her one. You know, for Nayar."

"I appreciate that," he replied with sincerity. He hadn't been able to bring himself to take along anyone else on this. He didn't feel like he could put their careers at risk. His service chief, on the other hand, made it clear that she wouldn't be left behind.

His omni-tool beeped. Wickham leaned forward, curious.

"The _Normandy_'s here," he said quietly. "Tower reports her docking mid-ward, Zakera."

Wickham looked out the window, where the Citadel's massive arms reached out to grasp at the Serpent Nebula. "What do you think, Shin Akiba market?"

"Seems like the best place to start." He stood up. "Let's catch a transport."

* * *

Kaidan imagined he could hear the whir of the advertising column's camera tracking him, logging his facial features and running them against its database. The wretched things dotted every corner of the Ward.

"Greetings," the holographic turian said, then the pause of a tenth of a second more than normal as the database returned a blocked identity, "citizen! Tired of-"

Safely generic, the advertisement prattled through its clip, timed to cover the passage of a person at a normal walk. The credits he'd sunk into various advertising blacklists suddenly didn't seem so ill-spent. He'd discovered the blackout lists after the Battle of the Citadel, and today was one of those days when he didn't want holographic ads barking his name every twenty feet.

The market section of Shin Akiba was mostly human, though there was a generous population of aliens as well. The large technology wing seemed like the most likely place to find Shepard... or for others to find her. She would need supplies. Equipment that would be out of date or prohibitively expensive in the Terminus. He wasn't surprised she would come here rather than the Presidium. The central section of the Citadel was the place for politics, and he was pretty sure she wanted about as much to do with the Council as he did these days. But Shin Akiba hadn't been badly damaged during the Battle of the Citadel, and the competition between the various stores meant better prices.

"Commander Shepard! Are you looking to continue your education?"

Kaidan's heart thudded in surprise. The voice blared somewhere behind him, the too-perfect cadence of one of the advertising columns. He only just kept from stumbling in shock; keeping his head down and his hands in his pockets, he scanned the nearby shopfronts for an open door.

"Now that you have been... deceased... for two years, you may want to invest in technical infrastructure skills-" the column went on, blithely unaware of who it was talking to but for the hitch in its broadcast.

Kaidan ducked into an open storefront to his immediate right. Within, a salarian shopkeeper was talking to a pair of customers, emphasizing his enthusiastic sales pitch with wide sweeps of his skinny arms. Just as well. Kaidan skirted past them and called up one of the holographic stock lists further along the counter. He glanced back over his shoulder to see Shepard herself walk past the entrance. His heart constricted. Her face looked drawn, thinner than he remembered, and still crossed by the painful-looking scars. At her side strode a green-skinned alien in a dark jacket. Kaidan blinked. It was the first time he'd seen a drell in the flesh.

"Salarian!" a voice roared.

The shopkeeper jumped, whirling, his large eyes going to the door. A krogan stumped into the store, shouldering aside the other customers.

"Marab," the storekeeper corrected, regarding this new arrival with a wary gaze. "How can I help-"

The krogan thumped his fist into the counter. "Your armor upgrade! Let me see it. The new model!"

Kaidan had never seen a krogan who looked like this one. He was smaller than Wrex had been, made less top-heavy by his smaller hump. His head-plate was segmented and the skin of his face seemed smooth. The shopkeeper fished around behind him and produced a box marked with the Saronis Applications logo, which he opened and presented to his large customer.

"The finest in reactive kinetics-"

The krogan ignored Marab's sales pitch as he picked up the device and turned it over in his hands, examining it with a sweep of his omni-tool.

"Good!" he declared, closing the interface. "How much?"

"Ninety-thousand credits-"

"Hah!" The krogan made a grab over the counter for the salarian's shirt-front. "Don't insult me, or my warlord!" He turned and raised his voice to bellow out into the commons, "Shepard!"

Kaidan flinched. _Oh, for..._

"You're with Shepard?" Marab said hurriedly, fending off the krogan's grip as the large alien turned an eye back to him. "For you, my employee discount, of course!"

"I've got a problem here, Wickham," Kaidan murmured into his comms. "Shepard's on my six and I'm cornered."

"You could just, you know, tell her," came the unhelpful response.

"We've been over this," Kaidan said between his teeth, eyeing the krogan.

"Wait! Sit tight, sir, I've got an idea."

_Just tell her. _As if it were that easy. It wasn't that he hadn't considered it, but there seemed to be no end of reasons why it wasn't a good idea. Most of them were convenient excuses for the reason he kept strictly to himself. He couldn't imagine facing her, not after Horizon. Not after the accusation he'd thrown in her face about Cerberus. After all that, to try and explain that an Alliance faction and her former teacher wanted her dead as a traitor?

"Seventy-five!" Marab was saying. "That's the best I can do!"

The krogan grunted, scowling at the shopkeeper. Then he nodded and reached into a belt compartment for a credit chit.

"Splendid!" The salarian gingerly took the proffered chit and connected it to his terminal. Whether he was glad about the price or the fact that he'd avoided a cracked skull was up for debate.

The krogan turned, eyeing Kaidan. With a grin, he whacked the commander on the shoulder with a 'friendly' blow. "Find yourself a proper warlord, human! Good prices for good armor!"

Kaidan shot him a pained smile.

"Sir." Wickham's voice in his ear again. "You're clear. Go now!"

The krogan turned back to collect his chit, and Kaidan took the opportunity to slip around behind him and out the door. Massaging his bruised shoulder, he scanned the crowds. A bright light caught his eye. There was a small group of gawkers gathered close to the noodle stand, and the light belonged to a hovering camera drone. Shepard stood outlined in the harsh glare, her arms folded in a posture Kaidan recognized instantly. She was pissed off.

"Is that... Al-Jilani?" Kaidan murmured.

"I know, right?" Wickham laughed. "She was a floor down, doing a story about some isolationist turian politician, so I fed her an anonymous tip. I've never seen a news crew move so fast. She practically jumped right out of those expensive heels getting up the stairs."

He mouthed a silent apology in Shepard's direction. He could hardly believe the reporter hadn't gotten herself killed, considering the kinds of questions she was fond of asking dangerous people. Distasteful as it was, she would keep Shepard occupied and stationary for a couple of minutes.

"Wickham, start your scans. See if you can get around the other side, but stay clear of Shepard. Report anything unusual."

"I'm on it."

Kaidan popped his omni-tool and started several pre-prepared programs running, then killed the visual interface. Walking wide of Shepard's position, he watched the crowds. There were members of all the major Citadel species present, but Kaidan paid particular attention to the humans. He found it unlikely the Alliance would trust an alien to carry out this operation. His omni-tool pinged quietly in his ear through his comms, hitting on energy signatures and eezo cores. The tone and volume told him broad type and strength.

Gravcars. A few people with personal kinetic barriers. He passed a stand in the middle of the commonway whose logo was suspended in the air with a focused anti-gravity field, powered by induction to create an eye-catching 360 degree hologram.

"I don't know if this means anything, sir..." Wickham murmured in his ear a few minutes later.

"What is it?"

"Someone talked to Shepard. Saluted, like they know her."

"Where is he now?"

"Halath Imports. Looks like he's ordering something. I got a pic of him, sending it now."

A tone pinged in Kaidan's ear. Weapon. C-Sec was enforcing a no-weapons policy these days, except for certain licenced carriers. He eased to a stop and glanced over his shoulder. A human man was ambling away from him, wearing civilian clothes and a short jacket that could easily conceal a sidearm. But not anything more powerful. Kaidan was about to turn away when he saw the man slow, his interest drawn down the street in Shepard's direction. He reached up to his ear briefly, a minimal tool interface appearing around it. Kaidan could see his lips move as he spoke to someone.

Kaidan raised his omni-tool and snapped several pictures, aiming in a wide sweep. He leaned against one of the large planters in the center of the commonway and scanned quickly through the pictures, picking one out that showed the man's profile with relative clarity. He cropped it, discarding the rest of the image. Wickham's image appeared, and he placed them next to each other. He didn't recognize either.

"I'm sending you another headshot," Kaidan said into his comms. "Try to get me idents on both. AMDB first."

"You bet, stand by."

The armed man started walking down the street in Shepard's direction, but with the forced casualness of someone who didn't want to get too close. What had started as curiosity in Kaidan's gut was becoming outright suspicion. But did this man plan on attacking the fully-armored and armed Spectre on the street with a pistol? Or was he a spotter? Kaidan glanced up. There were ventilation and service gantries up there, plenty of space for an enterprising sniper.

"Hits," the chief said.

"Go."

"Yours. Corporal Andrew Carter, 115th marine division assigned to SSV Panaji."

Kaidan smirked to himself. Someone's lackey, perhaps? But he'd have to be extra careful. Anyone in the Alliance stood a much better chance of recognizing him on sight.

"Mine," Wickham went on. "Second Lieutenant Calo Attakus, navigator SSV Jingxing, honorably discharged in '82."

"Shepard never served on the Jingxing," Kaidan mused. "How does he know her?"

"She's on the move, sir. Looks like the staircase up to 27."

"Head up there. I'm going to cut through the maintenance alley and try to get over to the next section ahead of them."

"Yessir."

The alley reminded him of the day they'd met Tali. One of many like it, but all a bit different; anyone who tried to build into them soon found their materials removed by the Keepers. This one was poorly lit, the only recognizable feature the large atmospheric scrubber and fan casing near the ceiling. Kaidan hurried past one of the Citadel's many stands of mysterious machinery. Very few people had any inkling of the truth behind the massive station-

A weight slammed into Kaidan's back, almost knocking him off his feet. Stumbling, he tried to twist around, only to have his right arm grabbed and yanked around behind him in a painful hold. The momentum forced him into one of the stanchions supporting the scrubber, pinning him there. Something cool and hard pressed against his skull just behind his right ear. A wash of warm breath tickled his neck.

"Who are you?" said a voice. It was low and slightly raspy, almost turian, but speaking perfect English.

Pain raked across Kaidan's shoulder and down his back as his mind raced. "Nobody important," he grated between his teeth.

"You lie poorly," the voice said.

Kaidan licked his lips, breathing in short gulps against the strain. Was it the person he'd been tailing? But how could the man have gotten behind him so quickly? Frustration was curdling into anger, the unwelcome itch for violence coursing along his muscles. There was a time when he wouldn't have even considered fighting in this situation- but two years of seething impotence were colliding with the unrelenting shocks of recent days.

He moved before he finished the thought. He snapped his head back, smacking something hard and drawing a surprised grunt from his attacker. With his free hand Kaidan reached around and hooked his fingers around the gun barrel, holding it away even as his biotic corona flared to life. Kaidan grabbed the arm holding the gun and twisted with all his strength, just as a second biotic field surged and crashed into his, skewing gravity around them. He stumbled, pulling himself free and whirling around, hands raised to sign his mnemonics.

His attacker stood poised in front of him, feet spread in a defensive crouch and pointing a blunt-nosed submachine gun straight at Kaidan's face. Limned in biotic distortion, Kaidan could make out the inhuman features that he'd only seen in pictures... and minutes ago, walking at Shepard's side. The drell.

Seconds passed as the two stared at each other. If the alien had wanted him dead, then he would be so already, but he wasn't. Time was slipping away from him. Another gamble might be the only way. With a measured breath, he let his corona flicker and die, shifting his posture to a less threatening one.

"This is the truth, then," Kaidan said, spreading his hands. "Someone is going to try to kill Shepard."

The alien's head cocked a few degrees. There was a flick of something around those huge black eyes- another eyelid? The muzzle of the gun stayed steady, tracking a spot somewhere between Kaidan's eyebrows with disconcerting precision.

"You were with her, I saw you," Kaidan went on. "I can only assume you're on her... team. The Collectors, right?" He rubbed his arm, sore from the pressure of the alien's hold.

The drell's eyes narrowed. He seemed to be considering this, though his shadowed face was impassive. "Someone trying to kill Shepard- hardly a new development, I think," he said finally.

Kaidan grimaced. "I don't think... she's expecting this one."

"I'll assume that, for the moment, we have the same objective." The drell's biotic aura faded away, and with it the electric feeling in the air. "Who?"

Kaidan's guts twisted, a dozen bitter answers flooding through his head. "The name I have is Maretset. Some kind of assassin, or-"

The drell dropped his gun, a hiss of breath coming from between his teeth. "That's not a person."

"That's all I have to go on," Kaidan admitted.

"It could already have been administered and no one would have seen it unless they knew to look..." the alien mused, half to himself.

"What are you talking about? What is it?"

The black eyes focused on him again. Without even a glint of reflected light, they looked like holes into nothingness. "Maretset is also called Yanna'charsi, a beast of the world of Aholt. It is a symbiotic bioform that has evolved to split itself to hunt its prey. It's also the name given to a bioengineered nanovirus made up of two parts. The core is the killer cell, designed to attack neurological function and halt autonomic systems. This is coated in a layer of complex proteins grown from the target's DNA." He tapped the muzzle of his gun against his thigh, a curiously human gesture. "Cunning. No mere poison would kill Shepard, I've seen it myself. But her body would not recognize the Maretset as a foreign invader.."

"We have to stop it."

The drell shook his head. "We must assume initial delivery has already taken place. Maretset's strength is that it will only attack its designated target. It can be spread over a wide area- a ship, its supplies, an eatery, perhaps even aerosolized into a section of Ward. In non-humans it simply dies, and in anyone but the target it will be attacked and eliminated by the immune system. How far it can be spread depends only on how many credits the assassin is willing to spend."

The alien peered at him, but Kaidan said nothing, letting the question hang in the air unanswered.

"But it needs to be triggered," the drell said. "Since the assassin has not yet done so, we can assume they're intending a delay. Usually, this means delivering the trigger when the target is safely far away. Suspicion is cast elsewhere, perhaps onto the target's immediate comrades."

_Make it seem like an inside job on the new _Normandy_. _"Can't you take her to a decom chamber and just purge the thing?" Kaidan asked. "A med-bay?"

"A decom chamber would pass over it because it's encoded to her DNA. A med-bay, perhaps. But you must understand, this nanovirus has been designed to circumvent such interference. Sometimes, a simple IV drip will kill it. Sometimes, such a treatment would set it off. This killer is designed to a very specific order, unique each time, and the more the client is willing to pay, the more failsafes may have been encoded into it."

"How do you know all this? This has to be illegal by Citadel convention..."

"It's my unfortunate business to know," the alien replied curtly. "And yes, the combination of illegality, difficulty in obtaining sufficient amounts of the target's DNA, and extreme expense make it, thankfully, a rarity. But now the beast is loose, Nobody, and we must act."

Kaidan frowned at the name. Was the drell mocking him?

"We are engaged in a game," the drell said. "I have taken you off the board for a brief time, but the ones you were following are still out there. I'll go back to Shepard and keep watch. There may be more players than we know. Since you're unwilling to divulge the assassin, _you_ must be the one to find out the trigger. Then it can be neutralized safely."

"What am I looking for?"

"A complex organic molecule. A lab-made material that is rare and stands no chance of occurring naturally, but that is otherwise harmless."

"Let me guess- easily introduced into a food supply without triggering any toxicity alerts."

The alien nodded. "Precisely. Go, now. You can contact me here." He tapped his small omni-tool, and Kaidan's pinged in response.

With that, the alien turned and jogged away, his feet silent on the metal floors.

"Sir? You there?" Wickham asked. "What's going on?"

Kaidan hurried out of the alleyway and back into the main market. "A new wrinkle. Don't worry about it right now."

"Guess who just hooked up?"

"Huh?"

"Our two friends. They just went into a club up here. The Dark Star."

Kaidan frowned. It could all be a coincidence. Or was there any such thing? They could be looking in entirely the wrong direction. He hissed in irritation. It was maddening, not knowing even a fraction of what he needed to.

"Where's Shepard?"

"Up here too, down the block. Rodam Expeditions."

"Can you keep an eye on the front door of both? I'll have a look around."

"Got it. Taking pictures." Wickham was obviously enjoying her persona, and maybe this whole spy business, a bit too much.

He located the broad staircase that led up to the next floors. The Dark Star wasn't hard to find. It seemed typical for a Ward-level, multi-species establishment. A hawk-faced turian patrolled the bar, fussing with his stock as he scanned for customers. While the Wards didn't tend to hew to any particular clock, it clearly wasn't happy hour in the Dark Star. The dance floor was empty as the patrons clustered around various tables and the bar itself, talking over the nonetheless loud, thumping beat of music.

Kaidan spotted their targets across the room, sitting in a booth with their heads close together. As he watched, one of them, the spike-haired Carter, indicated the pouch on his belt as he spoke. Kaidan frowned. It could be meaningless. But the man was also carrying a gun, probably without a permit. The commander made his way around the bar, putting it between them and himself, and headed for the back where there was a hallway marked with various symbols for bathrooms as well as another set of words that didn't mean anything to him offhand.

The bathrooms were clearly marked, segregated between levo and dextro instead of by gender. The hallway continued, however, and Kaidan spotted another large door only a dozen feet further down. He approached it curiously. The wide door glowed with red lock holo, a simple civilian model he'd seen many times before.

"Wickham?" he said into his comms.

"Nothing yet, they're still in there," came the reply. "Hey, there's a pair of krogan out here arguing about fish in the Presidium lakes-"

"That's nice, Chief. Would you mind keeping your mind on the job?"

"Sorry, sir."

"Keep your eyes peeled."

Kaidan popped his omni-tool interface and quickly scanned the lock, then crossed back along the hall to where the supporting bulkheads joined the bathroom doorways. Safe in the knowledge that he wouldn't be the first person to duck out of the noisy bar to attend to a call, he proceeded to weed through his store of cracker programs, looking for one that would find a chink in the lock's firewall. Someone walked by him, and he heard the thick clicks of a turian's taloned toes on the floor. He resisted the urge to look up, affecting an air of indifference. The turian ignored him right back. With the hallway clear, Kaidan sidled back over to the lock and hit it with a crack algorithm. A few seconds later, it flickered and cycled open, though the holo remained a deceptive red.

Within was another dance floor, as far as he could tell. It was dark, lit only by a bank of lights under the bar that were on a minimum setting. Dim shapes filled the room- tables and chairs, a few light columns, and a wide open space with contoured floor tiles.

An idea was forming in his mind, despite all his better judgement and the voice telling him that you never, ever did these kinds things on so little information.

He went back to the door, where light was spilling in from the hallway. He heard footsteps and voices, which approached then faded as their owners turned into the bathrooms. He wasn't a big club-goer, but he knew one thing. Dance floors were soundproofed. Especially in a place like the Citadel where every establishment was packed close to the next. He waited, edged up against the doorjamb, listening. People came and went. Each time, he peeked around the corner to see who it was. It only took ten minutes before he was rewarded. Corporal Carter himself came down the hallway and went into the bathroom.

"This is crazy," Kaidan breathed to himself, crossing out of the doorway and moving off to the bulkhead beside the bathroom door. His palms had broken out into a sweat, as if anticipating the decision. _I don't even know for sure he's involved. I don't know if this is the right person._ He heard the drell's words again- _It attacks the autonomic nervous system. Massive respiratory and heart failure-_

_My own goddamn people._

Carter stepped out of the bathroom. Kaidan slipped out of the cover of the bulkhead behind him. There was no one else in the hallway.

_They're going to murder her._

_Unless I try-_

The moment Kaidan's hands touched the other man, the familiar spike of fighting adrenaline replaced the fear. The commander grabbed a fistful of collar and used his body weight to slam Carter's head into the supporting buttress. With his other arm, he scooped up the sagging man and dragged him bodily into the dark dance bar, letting the door cycle closed behind them.

Carter was staggered but not unconscious. "What... what the hell?" he spluttered, hitting Kaidan in the face with a wild elbow.

Kaidan spun him around and cracked him across the jaw with a balled fist, feeling the shock travel up his arm. He heard the voice of habit, the very loud impulse to shut the feeling down and stop, be a good officer. Toe the line. Like always.

Unlike always, he didn't listen. _She'll suffocate._

_Again-_

Two years of conflict, loss and frustration boiled over. Kaidan's eyes were already adjusted to the darkness. Another fist sent the other man crashing into a thin support column and down to the floor. Something skittered away along the floor. Kaidan followed the other man down, wrenching Carter's arm into a lock and getting a knee into his back. Carter gasped and tried to shout something as Kaidan yanked the belt pouch open. A thick-sided canister fell out, the kind of thing one carried omni-gel or some other material around in. Kaidan scooped up the canister and planted it on the floor in front of Carter's nose.

"Talk!" Kaidan roared, wrenching the limb in his grip.

"Fuck you!"

"Wrong answer!" _Right answer._

The tattered remains of his doubt drowned in the satisfaction of releasing all of his pent-up helplessness. Kaidan didn't feel the blows Carter landed on his ribs as he picked the other man up and heaved him into the tables. The chairs scattered, but the tables were bolted in place, and he landed with an awkward crunch. Something, probably the plexiglass tabletop, shattered as he bounced off and landed on the floor.

Kaidan didn't just let his corona come up, he forced it, pushing the blood pounding in his ears out into a seething fire along his limbs. He shoved the gravity in the room, and it warped willingly, pushing down around him and lightening further out. Chairs began lifting off the floor as he stalked toward Carter, the dark energy adding a thudding weight to his steps. A mountain, an avalanche waiting to fall on this would-be assassin. Carter was trying to get up, fighting the sudden surge of gravity and the skittering chairs. Kaidan saw him look up, his eyes widen, and the man scrambled back, bouncing off more furniture.

There was a thread of idiot glee running through Kaidan's skull. _You want to see a biotic really get pissed off, do you? You want a reason to be afraid? I'll give you a goddamn reason, you murdering-_

The man swung at him. Kaidan twisted to take it on the shoulder, then uncoiled with another punch, and another. The shocks traveling up his arms seemed to flare with distortion, as if the dark energy itself shared his anger.

Kaidan threw his hand in a wide arc. Gravity lurched, sending both Carter and chairs flying into the empty dance floor. He landed heavily and slid, coming to a stop at the far side of the patterned floor. Whatever else, Carter was still military, and he made a dogged attempt to get up. Kaidan obliged him by inverting the gravitic field with the flip of his wrist, sending him crashing into the ceiling then letting him fall back, negating his momentum a foot from the ground. Carter's arms windmilled drunkenly as he tried to find his proper horizon, hovering in the air in a pocket of microgravity. Taking a deep breath to still the winded feeling in his lungs, Kaidan stalked across the room, flaring blue, holding the canister in his left hand.

"Stop!" Carter squawked, wrapping his arms around his head, face screwed up in fear as his legs scissored the air as if he could swim out of it.

_Someone doesn't like zero-G. Tragic._ "Talk!" Kaidan barked through clenched teeth, trying to mask how much the wild outburst had taken out of him. His throat was starting to burn.

"I was told to give it to him! Attakus! I served with him before he was discharged and now I think he works for some group maybe Cerberus or something but he was bragging about knowing Shepard and-"

Kaidan flipped his hand, warping the field to make him spin. "What is it?"

"Some kind of... of goop... a catalyst for something..." Carter panted. "Oh god, I don't know! It was that and a pile of money and he was saying he was going to quit after this mission and buy some big house on Earth and-"

He'd heard enough. Kaidan slowly closed his fist, pulling in the ambient gravity around Carter until it had frozen him in place, cutting off the rambling confession. He walked toward the man, listening to the noises of fear he made as the blue-wreathed spectre approached him.

_I can't have him following me. Or calling for help, at least for a little while. _He found himself thinking about how easy it would be the kill the man. A flip of the wrist. _No. I watched Shepard do this, I can too._

Concentrating, Kaidan slipped his arm around Carter's neck, feeling the field slam into his arm as he crossed into it. He took a deep breath and stepped completely in. A sharp snap of static shocked between them as Kaidan let the weight bear his forearm across Carter's throat. The man made a few panicked noises before his breath cut off. Kaidan waited, counting, listening. His nerves were burning with the sustained exertion.

At length, he saw Carter's eyes roll up and felt muscles slacken under his grip. He let go of the field in a rush, which snapped back to normal with a wobble that staggered him, knocking him to his knees with the sudden deadweight in his hands. He let the man flop to the ground, rolling him onto his side. That anechoic silence of the soundproofed room descended, broken only by Kaidan's panting. He slipped his fingers around Carter's outstretched wrist and tested for a pulse. It was there, and Kaidan found himself relieved... or perhaps relieved to be so.

He pushed himself to his feet and plodded to the door, left hand still wrapped around the blocky canister casing. There would be an emergency exit out the back, it was the Citadel's standard building codes. His head was still on fire, veins burning with leftover adrenaline as he peeked out the door. The hallway was empty. He closed and re-locked the door behind him, then jogged down the hall away from the main bar.

He got out to the street in a bit of a daze, rubbing at his skinned and stinging knuckles. The doubts, his normal level-headed self, were both trying to crowd back again._ Have you completely lost your mind?_

He jumped when Wickham spoke in his ear. "Commander, you there? You dropped out again."

"I'm... here."

"You okay, sir?"

Kaidan choked off a laugh. "No, but yes. Stand by, I have to make a call."

Trying to still the trembling in his hands, Kaidan touched his omni-tool interface and keyed in the identifier the drell had given him. It was anonymous, pointing to one of the many smaller comm hubs. There was no answer when he pinged it, but the gentle hiss told him the comm line was open.

"It's Nobody," Kaidan said with a sarcastic quirk of his mouth.

"Ah," came the answer, low and smooth. "Do you have news?"

"Better. I think I have the trigger itself. Some kind of canister of biological material."

"Excellent."

"Does the name Attakus mean anything to you?"

"It does. He is a crewman on the _Normandy_."

"He was taking delivery of this. As well as a sizable amount of cash."

"Where are you?"

"Wait. How do I know I can trust you?"

There was a moment of silence. "I'm afraid I have no answer that would satisfy you. But I would suggest that you would not be able to offer one for me, either."

Kaidan sighed quietly, running his hand through his hair. "I suppose that's fair." He closed his eyes. "Just... promise me you'll stop this."

"I will not allow it."

Perhaps he was desperate for some certainty in this mess, but Kaidan took some comfort in those simply stated words. "Level... 26, I think."

"Good, I'm close. There is a large planter across from the Stand. Leave it there."

The line went dead. Kaidan switched channels. "Wickham, where's Shepard?"

"Level 29. I'm missing something, aren't I?"

"I'll debrief you later. Just get clear for now."

There was an irritated noise from the other end of the line. "I always miss the fun stuff."

"Chief-"

"Aye, sir. Clearing out."

The burst of biotics was starting to wear on him, making his head feel muddy. Kaidan followed the drell's instructions, finding the human ramen stand and the plants across from them. His package deposited, he walked away, targeting a bench across the way that would give him a good view. By the time he turned to sit down, the low voice spoke in his ear for the last time.

"I have it. Be well."

He never saw the drell. Kaidan stood up and went out of the market into the street. With no destination in mind, he shut down his comms, crammed his stinging hands into his pockets and walked out into the Ward.

* * *

Despite all Kaidan's overly active expectations, neither C-Sec nor the Alliance MPs materialized to arrest him for assault in the following hours. The Citadel, ancient gateway to apocalypse, went on about its endless day, oblivious to one more drama among thousands. An organic speck adrift in a swirling sea, Kaidan seesawed between the feeling of triumph for pulling off something out of nothing, and the creeping horror at just how close to the surface the violence had been lurking. For all he knew, the moment he reported back to the Alliance central, he'd be clapped in irons and hauled away to court martial. Deep in the Ward, he wallowed in the anonymity, delaying a return to the real world, safe in the knowledge that the station's denizens couldn't possibly out-do anything he'd experienced in the past few weeks. He almost wished some idiot mugger would jump out and demand his credit chit, just so he could have a good laugh at the expense of the universe.

Instead, he eventually drifted back to the hotel he'd booked for the brief layover they'd been afforded between assignments while command sorted out what to do next. It was a huge building, with cavernous hallways connected to a warren of small but affordable hotel rooms. It was in the approach to the elevator in one such empty hall that the universe decided it wasn't done with him yet, when the elevator door opened square into the person of Rear Admiral Tennyson. Kaidan's heart dropped into his toes. Unruffled, Tennyson stepped out, backing Kaidan into the hall.

"You're a hard man to find when you decide not to be," Tennyson commented. The door cycled shut behind him. "Had a busy day, have we?"

Not for the first time in his life, shock piled on hours of stress and weariness got the better of Kaidan's mouth. "Are you out for my ass now?" he hissed. "Should we just get it over with and kill each other right here?"

The admiral raised an eyebrow at the ridiculous threat. "Histrionics don't suit you, Commander."

"What the hell do you want me to say?" Kaidan threw his arms wide. "You tried to have Shepard _assassinated!_ Don't you have any-"

Tennyson crossed the hall in a single stride, moving very fast for such a large man. Before Kaidan could blink, the admiral had him by a fistful of shirt and hauled up to his toes with a painful wrench.

"Don't you think for a _second_ that you get it, just because you spent a few months thinking with your dick!" Tennyson growled, his lined face an inch from Kaidan's own. "I was losing people to Cerberus when you were still grubbing around on Jump Zero trying to figure out which way was up!"

Kaidan tried to say something, tried to grab Tennyson's arm. How did he know about BAaT? Maybe that was a stupid question. The admiral's grip was fearsomely strong, his forearm corded with steel.

Tennyson thumped him into the wall. "By all rights, Alenko, I should have killed her _myself._ She was practically a daughter to me, and then she shows up out of nowhere with that fucking logo on her chest! My whole _life_ I've fought to keep Cerberus and its sympathisers from ruling the Alliance. You have _no_ fucking idea how many good people have gone down in this war! And she, _she_ turns on me!"

The admiral let go with a shove and jabbed a finger in Kaidan's face. "But I let _you_ decide."

"Me? What..."

Tennyson scowled at him, bristling. "Did you _really_ think I'm that goddamn clumsy with my data transfer caches on an old ship?"

Kaidan stared at him in stunned silence.

"I've spent years cultivating my allies, Alenko. Years! And yet the trust between us has to be carefully maintained, or else it all falls apart. We've been screwed from the inside too many times. As soon as they found out Shepard was compromised, they started fabrication of the Maretset. She's a security leak a mile wide. I stalled them as long as I could. Until Horizon, I could tell them we needed confirmation. I didn't want to believe it myself.

"You think _you_ were angry, you haven't any idea! I almost let it go by. Let it happen. But you were there on Horizon, you got to look her in the eye. Eleventh hour, I decided to let you choose. So I left out a few breadcrumbs, and your overly nosey little chief obliged us both."

The admiral drew himself up, stepping back and tugging smooth the rumpled sleeve of his civilian jacket. "So the operation failed, due to circumstances beyond my control. These things happen. And my position remains untouched."

Despite the admiral's much higher rank and the ease of which he could make Kaidan's life miserable, the incident in Hong Kong had forged a certain out-of-uniform understanding between them. But that understanding now felt like it hung on a razor's edge.

"You used me to..."

"I gave you the veto. You exercised it."

Silence fell in the hallway. Kaidan flexed his sore hands, feeling the answering pulse of sullen pain from the bruises along his body. His brain hummed, trying to wrap itself around this new input. Had Tennyson expected him to even consider letting the hit go through?

"Did you use Shepard like this?" Kaidan asked.

"Use? Shepard did her job. Even the hard ones, and with pride. We took out a lot of very nasty people together, and not the clean missions they give you medals for, either. You did an admirable job, given the circumstances."

"I had no goddamn idea what I was doing."

Tennyson chuckled. "Welcome to the club. You think Shepard does? Taking orders is easy. Making decisions? When lives are on the line and you have no information to go on? That's work."

"Yeah, the responsibility lecture. Just what I need now that I flushed my career down the toilet. Even if he didn't get a good look at me, I'm sure I left more than enough DNA around. The minute they run a scan, I'm finished."

Tennyson snorted. "They won't investigate anything."

Kaidan looked up at him, relieved despite himself.

"Think about it," the admiral said with a toss of his hand. "If they haul you in, they're going to have to ask you _why_ you jumped him. And that will stir up a whole hornet's nest of uncomfortable questions. Can you imagine the fallout if this attempt got out to the public? You may not know it, but despite what was done to the _Normandy_'s crew, they never managed to do much damage to your personal credibility. Hackett protected you. If you really started pointing fingers, the guilty parties would have a lot of trouble shutting you down."

"That's a load of crap."

"Really." The admiral chuckled again, a dry sound. "That's why they tried so hard to make you believe you're nuts, is it?"

"Then why'd Joker get hung out to dry?"

"Lieutenant Moreau was loyal to his favorite ship, not the uniform. The politics of the situation required sacrifices. Hackett is a canny old goat, and he knows loyalty when he sees it. He put you on the _Normandy_ for a reason, and he protected you after she went down. You're the kind of anchor point he needs in his command."

"Politics."

"Naturally. The Alliance is bigger than any single human government, bigger than any military system humanity has ever known. It's practically an Earth unto itself, with all the factionalism that entails. The Battle of the Citadel was a watershed that sent shockwaves through the entire system, all the way down to the lowliest groundpounder. It's going to take years for the dust to settle. But now is when the wrong factions will try to gain more power. It's up to us to keep that from happening."

"Whose side is Hackett on?"

"Good question. Most of the time, I think it's ours. But he's kept his seat so long because he knows how to play the game, and it means he doesn't show all of his cards to anyone."

"Okay, so what the hell is 'our side'?"

Tennyson looked him in the eye. "The side that doesn't stoop to Chasca, Binthu or Hong Kong, because we know it'll end up costing us more than the single battle."

"But assassination, we're fine with that, are we?"

"Survival sometimes means kill or be killed, you know that. It must remain an option, as an absolute last resort. We may differ on the details, Alenko, but when it comes down to it, I think we're on the same page."

"What if your 'allies' try again?"

"They might. They might even suspect I had something to do with the failure of Maretset. But it cost them an awful lot of resources to get that thing made. If they try again, they might be forced to go for the direct approach, and we both know how that'll end."

"Shepard will turn up in someone's office with a lot of questions and a shotgun."

Tennyson nodded, a smile quirking his face. "If someone steps on her tail, they get teeth and claws. She can be relied upon for that."

"So what the hell do we do now?"

"Now we wait. We watch and we listen, put out fires, and we hope you made the right call."

"What about the Collectors?"

"If Shepard's on their asses with a ship and a crew, then they're done. We wait for the fallout and reorganize. There has to be more going on than we know."

Kaidan wished he could share the admiral's confidence. He rubbed his temples. In his head he could hear the buzzing whine of the Collector's paralyzing bugs, feel the rumble of their massive ship as it blasted Horizon's comms and landing bays to smoking ruins. The heat of their ship-tearing directed energy weapon shearing the _Normandy_ in half.

"Do you even know who you're angry at anymore?" Tennyson asked.

"Name something," Kaidan snapped. _Myself._

"Did you ever mourn her death?" The admiral's voice was low. "Say goodbye? Or did you just cram it all into a box and try to pretend it wasn't there?"

Kaidan looked at him sharply.

"Because the person you knew is dead, one way or the other."

That ugly, cold feeling rolled through him, the memory of standing in that warehouse. The absurd memory that might not, should not have happened. A damaged geth in an N7 stripe. He'd never been so close to a geth before, not when it wasn't dead or trying to kill him. Its quick, measured movements were fascinating. Then from that cold plastic shell came a voice, painfully human, gasping and terrified-

"Shut up," Kaidan grated. His stomach roiled.

"So is the person you were back then."

Kaidan drew a breath, trying to quell the nausea. He wanted the pure, single-mindedness of rage back, but it wouldn't come. "Look, just leave me alone. You got what you wanted."

Tennyson grunted, and regarded Kaidan for a long moment. Then he turned, but paused. "One last thing, though, Alenko. If anyone ever tries to promote you past Captain, run for your life."


	23. One Choice

  


**One Choice**

"What's this about, Commander?" Jacob asked. His fatigues creaked as he shifted his weight.

"We'll find out shortly," Shepard replied, folding her arms.

Miranda regarded the Lazarus project, wishing she could discern Shepard's intentions behind that stony mask. She was up to something. And while it might not involve launching herself at a thresher maw, the air in the _Normandy_'s conference room felt almost as ominous. By all rights, the mission was going very well. They had succeeded in rounding up the Illusive Man's recommended individuals, and despite all of her doubts, had even started molding them into something resembling a team.

But the last operation, a scrambled response to a distress beacon, had gone very poorly indeed. Miranda had never imagined Shepard would get so furious about lives lost. It was tragic, to be sure, but it was the batarians who had fired those missiles, not her. The fact that they'd only succeeded in activating one of the emergency detonation codes in time was simply bad luck. Miranda never imagined that Shepard would take the loss so personally. It must have been exacerbated by the commander's own experiences of being a colonial suffering a terrorist attack. Chambers should have realized this might be an issue-

The door cycled open, and Yeoman Chambers herself entered the room. A momentary frown of uncertainty passed across her face as she looked between the three occupants. Miranda kept herself impassive, even though she shared the Yeoman's confusion. Across the table, Jacob glanced at Shepard, eyebrow raised.

"Thank you for joining us, Miss Chambers," Shepard said, laying her hands on the conference table.

The ship's psychologist seemed taken aback by the stiff formality. "May I ask what this is about, Commander?"

"I want some questions answered. Let's dispense with the pretense and be blunt. I know I'm being monitored. We all are, by the Illusive Man. He'll see everything, from my personal quarters to this conference room. For all I know there's a camera on the end of my hairbrush, to see what my follicles might be up to on a given day."

The younger woman swallowed. "Alliance ships are monitored, aren't they?"

"You never served in the Alliance Navy, did you?"

"No, ma'am," Chambers admitted.

"Alliance ships are monitored, yes, but the laws and policies regarding monitoring devices are clear and available to anyone who wishes to look them up. Cameras are limited to the common areas of the ship, and the footage is kept under strict storage guidelines, only released in the event of an incident. In short, monitoring happens in accordance with the agreement between enlisted personnel and security concerns. There are no secrets."

Miranda glanced at Shepard, trying to figure out where this was going.

"But I don't recall ever agreeing to anything like that here," the commander continued. "Nor was I made aware of the extent of the surveillance before signing on. EDI?"

The AI's avatar appeared at the far end of the conference table. "Yes, Commander?"

"Who besides me is authorized to access my personal messages?"

"I have a block preventing me from answering that question."

Shepard looked at the Cerberus Operator, obviously unsurprised at the AI's answer. Miranda tried not to grind her teeth. What was she playing at? She already knew the answer, why drag it out into the open like this? "EDI, answer the Commander's question, please. On my authorization."

"Cerberus Operator Lawson bypass accepted. Yeoman Kelly Chambers and Operator Miranda Lawson have full access to Commander Shepard's personal files. This includes both the messages forwarded to Commander Shepard and the ones flagged to be locked and stored."

Shepard's eyebrows went up. "'Forwarded'?"

"You get quite a bit of mail, Commander," Chambers explained. There was a nervousness evident in the way her gaze flicked around the room, never settling anywhere. "Even though your address here isn't public knowledge. We... filter your messages. In the interest of the mission, you understand. You have enough to worry about without needless distractions."

"On what criteria?"

Chambers shifted. "The Illusive Man... charged me with deciding what was mission-critical, and..."

"And?"

The red-haired woman lifted her chin. "I'm doing my job, ma'am."

"Which involves keeping me disconnected from anything that might compromise my views of Cerberus, am I correct?"

The silence that followed was cold. Miranda wanted to say something, to defend Cerberus' position, but the words didn't come. The persistent distrust for the true motivations behind the Illusive Man's choice of Shepard's personal assistant dogged at her, stilling her tongue. What if Chambers' filters extended even to Miranda herself?

"EDI," Shepard said, "are the ground team channels monitored?"

"I have a block preventing me from answering that question."

This was hardly uncommon knowledge. "Answer the question please, EDI," Miranda said.

"Cerberus Operator Lawson bypass accepted. The following crewmembers are authorized to monitor ground team channels during missions; Operator Miranda Lawson, Yeoman Kelly Chambers, Pilot Jeff Moreau, Chief Medical Officer Helen Chakwas-"

"EDI, was Yeoman Chambers monitoring the audio during the Franklin mission?" Shepard asked.

"I have a block preventing me from answering that question."

Across the room, Miranda could swear the yeoman had flinched. "EDI, answer the Commander," she said. Curiosity prickled again. Shepard was after something, and for all the world, the operator wanted to know what it was.

"Cerberus Operator Lawson bypass accepted. Yes, Yeoman Chambers logged in to the team comm channel twelve seconds after the _Normandy_'s external airlock closed. She remained logged in until Commander Shepard's return aboard at 09:34.32. All communications were recorded."

"That's also part of my job," Chambers said, looking straight at Miranda. "As ordered. I monitor team channels in the interest of keeping track of the individual team members' well-being."

"I see," Shepard said. "And does that monitoring include access to mission-specific actions on EDI's part? Codes, intrusion attempts, firewall activity and so on?"

"Anything I think is necessary to the team's best interest."

Miranda suppressed a smirk. _How conveniently vague._

Shepard shifted, looking back at the AI. "EDI, does Yeoman Chambers' access include mission-specific actions on your part?

"I have a block-"

"Answer the question, EDI," Miranda said without thinking about it.

"Your authorization is insufficient to override the block, Miss Lawson."

The operator glared at the holoprojection, feeling a rush of cold down her neck.

"Layers within layers," Shepard murmured. "Maybe you can answer me this, then, EDI. Was there a discrepancy between the detonation codes as you retrieved them from the launch bay computer, and what was sent to me on-site?"

Chambers' mouth opened, her eyes wide.

"Yes," the AI replied before the psychologist could say anything.

"_What?_" Jacob burst out.

"Who was monitoring the channel at the time?"

"Only Yeoman Chambers was logged into team communications at the time of code transmission."

"Chambers switched the det codes," Shepard said quietly. "Didn't you?"

There was a moment of dead silence. Miranda realized her mouth was also hanging open and closed it with a snap. The yeoman rubbed her hands together. They were trembling, and a sheen of sweat had broken out on her forehead.

"I did... what I had to do," Chambers murmured, breathless in the stunned air, "to save the colony."

Jacob found his voice again. It was impressive when he put his lungs into it, bouncing around the enclosed room. "By killing thousands of people?" he roared. "What the _hell_ were you thinking?"

"Don't you think I know what I did?" Chambers retorted, her voice rising to meet his. "Don't you think I know how many people died? I _had_ to! If that missile had hit the industrial sector, the entire colonial economy would have collapsed and they all would have had to evacuate!"

"So _what_?"

Tears were standing in Chamber's eyes as she shouted back, "The colony had to survive! It's hard enough out in the Terminus, and Franklin is a manufacturing center that produces building supplies for the local systems! Without it, material prices would skyrocket and builders would have to wait weeks!"

"Do you think all those families that died _care_ about the price of _commodities_?"

"Without those materials, colonial development stalls! Investors drop out and recruiting dries up! We could lose the entire sector to pirates! Humanity's future in the Terminus is at stake!"

"That doesn't justify-"

"Do you have any idea how hard it is out here, Jacob?" Chambers threw her arms wide, her face growing red as her hair. "Unlike the core worlds, these colonies have to do everything themselves! The Alliance isn't going to protect them, either physically or materially. And yet they'll be the bedrock of our presence in the Terminus!"

Shepard watched them, arms folded, with a blank expression that chilled Miranda.

"I did what I had to. I knew..." Chambers choked, then continued after a moment with evident difficulty. "I know your profile, Commander. There was no time to bring it up for discussion. But I knew what you'd do."

"So you took it upon yourself to decide for me."

Chambers swiped at the tears threatening to fall, then met Shepard's stare with her own defiant gaze. "I did. I'd... I'd do it again. Humanity's interests have to-"

"Thus speaks Cerberus," Shepard stated.

Chambers' eyes flashed with anger. "The Illusive Man brought you back because you know how to make hard choices, Commander! He needs people like us to make the impossible decision, the one that will keep us safe in the years to come! The Citadel won't touch the Terminus systems, but humanity can reach beyond them and forge a new Terminus!"

Without changing expression, Shepard spoke to the AI. "EDI, Yeoman Chambers is hereby relieved of duty. Revoke all privileges, including any and all system access points and off-ship communications. Lock and sequester all files and data flagged to her until further notice."

Unmoved by the drama in the room, the blue sphere replied, "Yes, Commander."

The yeoman's mouth fell open. "What? I..." She looked at Miranda. "Miss Lawson, this mission is more important than one colony! I'm prepared to accept full responsibility for my actions, but-"

"But you forget who is the commanding officer on board this ship." Shepard stated, enunciating each word with crisp precision.

Miranda's fists were clenched so hard the blood was leaving her hands._ You little idiot. Being the Illusive Man's personal lackey isn't going to save you from this._

"If you'd ever served, you'd know what it really means to be in a chain of command," Jacob cut in. Anger still simmered in his dark eyes, carried by the stiff toss of his hand. "You committed an act of insubordination. Treason. Your feelings are irrelevant. A commanding officer needs to be able to trust that her team will follow orders, regardless of their personal convictions!"

"Chambers," Shepard continued, her implacable stare forcing the yeoman back a half-step. "Get off my ship. Now."

The yeoman looked at Miranda and Shepard, then back again, her eyes growing wild. "But... this is a refueling station! There can't be more than a crew of four! It-"

"Do you know what the traditional penalty for treason is?" Shepard's blank voice dropped into a chilling rasp. "Get. Off. My. Ship."

Chambers stayed stock still for a moment, then jabbed a finger in Miranda's direction. "You would have done the same thing, Miranda!"

Fury exploded in Miranda's head, and she kept it in check only with considerable effort. "_I_ follow Shepard's orders!" she snapped. "Like it or not, she's the one in charge! Or did you forget that particular detail?"

"Enough," Shepard said. "You are dismissed!"

Chambers turned and fled through the doors. Silence fell again, broken only by the sound of breathing. Shepard remained the same stony statue, but Jacob started pacing, stalking the length of the table and back, his hands clenched. Miranda breathed slowly, deliberately, trying to calm her racing pulse and think. It was of tantamount importance to contain this situation.

"How did you know, Commander?" Jacob asked, coming to a stop.

"I didn't. But there had to be another explanation for what happened. EDI was able to eliminate a certain number of possibilities, then I started running into blocks. There are only a few..." she glanced at Miranda, "reasons for when those show up, I've noticed."

Jacob ran his hand over his close cropped hair. "Commander, you had run-ins with Cerberus cells back before Lazarus, but you've never spoken of them. Why not?"

Miranda tensed.

"Because I don't have any evidence to show you," Shepard replied, her gaze still fixed on the door. "Without it, they're just stories."

"I could stand a little storytelling, at this point."

"I hardly see how that would benefit anyone, Jacob," Miranda interjected. "Especially at this stage. The Collectors are our primary concern."

Jacob leaned forward, planting his balled fists on the table. "With all due respect, Miranda, I think I've given more than enough time to the Illusive Man's side of the story. But I saw Pragia, and there's no _way_ that was worth the cost. And now this... I don't know. I think I want to hear Shepard out."

"Pragia was a mistake, a man who went way beyond the original purview of his mission. The Illusive Man shut it down when he found out what was happening."

Jacob folded his arms. "What about Akuze? Fifty marines died."

Shepard's head tuned only slightly, but her eyes shifted to bore into the Cerberus operator. Miranda had been expecting this kind of question for some time now. The Illusive Man had provided her with files on the Akuze cell in anticipation- the only mystery was why it had taken so long to be asked.

Miranda paused to collect herself, smoothing out a nonexistent wrinkle in her sleeve before explaining. "The Akuze cell was, unfortunately, a similar situation to Pragia. The team was tasked with studying threshers, so we could better predict their attacks and find more effective methods of eliminating them. Several researchers also took an interest in the thresher's various biological processes- their natural armor, acid and burrowing techniques, to see if anything beneficial could be derived from them. Their progress was slow, however, and the Illusive Man was on the verge of shutting down the cell and moving the resources elsewhere. The team leader, Laksson, made an extreme decision in a desperate attempt to produce data. The resulting massacre was a crime for which those responsible were punished."

"Is that why it was still going on five years later?" Shepard said.

"The Akuze cell was shut down in '77."

A chilly silence fell over the room as Miranda returned Shepard's stare. Finally, Jacob cleared his throat. "Commander-"

"Corporal Toombs," Shepard cut him off, "second fire team grenadier on the Akuze scouting operation. Good man, a little hot-headed, liked to talk about baseball. Big fan of the Hanshin Tigers. Imagine my surprise when I found him, very much alive, at the head of a small merc band assaulting the lab of one Doctor Wayne. In 2183, after I was made a Spectre."

Miranda's eyes narrowed. Wayne had been a problem, a critical security leak in 2184 when he'd agreed to testify before an Alliance tribunal regarding the Akuze cell. He'd been one of the assistant researchers to Laksson, and evidently a looser cannon than anyone had guessed.

"What did Corporal Toombs say?" Jacob asked.

"Before he shot himself in front of me?" Shepard said, not looking away from Miranda.

He swallowed, eyeing Shepard.

"He _said _that Wayne was delighted to find him clinging to life after the Akuze attack," the commander went on. "Then proceeded to keep him alive, running tests on him, including shooting him full of thresher acid to see what the effects were. For five years."

"That was Wayne's own twisted prerogative," Miranda said, "Cerberus had nothing to do with it! All funding as withdrawn in '77 and Laksson was censured."

"Are you sure about that?" Shepard asked.

"I am," Miranda replied coolly.

"Then again, maybe Wayne's research was more productive than Laksson's. Maybe the Illusive Man didn't care where the data for the new thermo-hexplate layering came from. Cord-Hislop stock did very well in '81, as I recall."

How did Shepard possibly know all this? She had to be guessing, making assumptions based on what little she knew for sure. "The cell was shut down in '77," Miranda repeated, forcing her voice level to cover the uncertainty.

The commander continued after a moment. "Cerberus wanted to study the effects of the so-called Dragon's Teeth the geth were using against Eden Prime's colonists. ExoGeni provided samples, and those samples were deployed on a colonial startup in the Maroon Sea. The entire pioneer team was wiped out to a man. All we found were husks. Garrus was there, you can ask him about it.

"You can also ask him about Rear Admiral Kahoku. Dead because he started asking too many questions about how and why a squad of his marines went missing. Found him on Binthu, along with several other dead test subjects and a dozen thorian creepers. Do you know about the thorian?"

"Yes," Miranda said curtly. Shepard's icy calm was getting more and more unnerving.

"Then maybe you should ask how Cerberus ended up with several of its aggressive plant thralls. While you're at it, ask Tali'zorah about the unprovoked attack on the flotilla by Cerberus commandos."

"The flotilla?" Jacob said. "Why would Cerberus attack the flotilla?"

"To recover a human autistic girl who was also a powerful biotic."

"A hostage?"

"No, the girl and her guardians fled there... to get _away_ from non-consensual Cerberus experimentation during the Ascension project at Grissom Academy."

Jacob looked across the table at Miranda. She didn't look back, keeping her gaze pinned on Shepard. She wasn't going to waste her breath on excuses and explanations she didn't have, but she found she couldn't meet Jacob's eyes.

Shepard went on, unrelenting. "In late '83, Cerberus wanted certain biotics legislation passed by the major powers on Earth. So they engineered biotic incidents by drugging certain key individuals and letting them lose their minds in public, with fatal results. Their last attempt was in Hong Kong, using the cover of a gang attack. You can ask Joker about that one, of all people."

Miranda looked down at the table, frowning. She'd heard about that legislation, calling for tougher registration for biotics. It had seemed like an absurdity, a paranoid move by older government officials who were bent on trying to control something they didn't understand. But to hear that Cerberus might have _supported_ it... small wonder the Illusive Man would have glossed over such a detail.

"And let's not forget the shuttle crash in '54 over Johannesburg. A failed eezo coil was it? Sabotaged on Cerberus' order."

Miranda looked up sharply. "How did you know about that?"

Shepard met her gaze and held it, the light of EDI's holograhic projection catching her reflective retinas. "You just told me."

The Cerberus operator choked, shutting her mouth against the invective trying to find its way out. She silently cursed her lapse. She had to stay cool. This situation couldn't be allowed to spiral any further out of control.

Shepard closed her eyes, exhaling a long breath. "The truth is the Cerberus biotics database I found on Binthu didn't have that little detail in the entry about me, but thank you for confirming what I've suspected since. But your file did say that I was one of eleven that developed something like stable biotic talents. A twelfth flared up when she was exposed to the blowoff from a gravcar accident at age thirteen. Twelve biotic kids... out of a hundred and fifty exposed fetuses. Do you know how many didn't make it to age one?"

"I know the numbers," Miranda snapped.

"Cerberus... _caused_ the accident?" Jacob cut in, voice rising again.

"Does this really come as a surprise?" Shepard asked him. "Cerberus wants as many biotic humans as possible."

"I..." He seemed to flounder for a moment. "Miranda, what about me? Did Cerberus cause that accident too?"

"I don't know, Jacob."

His eyes grew hard with suspicion.

"I don't know!" she repeated, clenching her fists against the trembling trying to creep into her limbs. "This was before I was even born! I only know about Johannesburg because the Illusive Man released every detail pertinent to Shepard to me for the Lazarus project!"

Jacob grunted, looking away. He took a few steps, then turned. "Commander, may I be dismissed? I need some time to think."

She nodded. He saluted crisply, then walked out of the room. As the door closed behind him, Miranda felt herself hesitating to follow him.

"I wouldn't have done it, Shepard," she said. "Despite what Chambers thinks." For some reason she couldn't quite grasp, Miranda wanted Shepard to believe her.

"What if Chambers was right?" The commander still looked at the door.

"What?"

"Because she may have been. The future of the colony is very different either way. Lives now, or lives later..." she trailed off, her expression distant.

Miranda tried to shift the knot attempting to take hold between her shoulderblades. Keeping up with the commander's train of thought was sometimes as bad as trying to keep up with her in the field. Her tendency to charge off in a seemingly random direction remained undiminished.

"I do have a certain admiration for what you've done here, you know," Shepard said after a moment. "It's, as they say, a tight ship. Gardner in particular is a stroke of genius. The stanch loyalist at the center of the whole operation, doing a job that keeps him in contact with the whole crew, but without an officer's distancing air of authority. A good choice.

"I'm guessing that there's... a secondary intent to the Lazarus mission, isn't there? Past physical resurrection?"

Miranda regarded Shepard for a long moment. Just like in the field, Shepard's charges ended up hitting a target. "Phase six is... securing your loyalty to Cerberus," she admitted finally.

Shepard made a sound that was half a laugh, half a sigh. "Cerberus has been trying to run my life from the beginning. From even before I was born."

Despite herself, Miranda felt a surge of sympathy. "You were one of many, Shepard. I don't know all the details, but Cerberus has been following certain individuals for years, especially biotics, and encouraging their development. After your family refused training and moved to Mindoir, you were down-graded to watch only."

"I can guess what happened next. The batarians attack and I'm suddenly a free agent."

Miranda nodded. "Yes."

"Did Cerberus have _anything_ to do with that attack?" Shepard said between her teeth.

"I never saw anything whatsoever to indicate they did," Miranda said hastily, grateful that she could be honest. "Like I said, you were on watch status only, until you were... re-acquired for biotics training."

"And then that went to hell too."

There was a moment of silence before Miranda spoke. "Shepard, you did what very few people have done- you surprised the Illusive Man. He'd written you off as a repeat failure, just another statistic. But then you came into your own, on the strength of your own accomplishments. N special forces. Spectre. I think... that's why he believes you're special. You fought every inch to get where you are. You're the best of humanity, not because you were engineered, but because you adapted and succeeded regardless of the roadblocks placed in your path."

_Not because you were engineered. _Oh, how those words burned. "And that's why he spared no expense to bring you back. We could... never hope to repeat the process you went through to become who you are now."

"Are you still concerned about my motivations?" Shepard asked.

The Cerberus operator blinked, recalling one of their first conversations from before Freedom's Progress. Everything had seemed so clear when Shepard was still comatose on a table. The plan had a clear path from start to completion. Miranda never could have imagined it would get so convoluted.

"I think I have a better understanding of where they come from," she conceded. It was the best she could do.

"I'll fight and I'll die for everyone on this ship. Including you. You know that now, I hope."

_Damn her_. "Yes."

"What changed your mind?"

Miranda paused before answering, trying to still her racing mind. High emotions were the bane of any situation. "When you took the krogan... when you took Grunt down to his homeworld for his ritual," she said. "You did it, Shepard. You succeeded in all the ways the Illusive Man expected you to."

Shepard's face twitched in displeasure. "Not with Chambers, I didn't."

Troublesome as it was, Yeoman Chambers was not a mission-critical asset. Miranda was already re-adjusting her grasp of the ship's internal function. The rest of the crew would have to be dealt with, but they were professionals. By and large they could be counted on to respect Shepard's command decision. Some of them wouldn't bat an eye, already sold on Shepard's vision. Others might be a cause for concern. But in all, this incident would not derail the overall mission.

"And I'm complicit in all of it," Shepard said softly.

Miranda looked up from her contemplations. "Complicit?"

"The moment I set foot on the Citadel, I could have walked off the ship and turned you all in. But I didn't. And because of that, I'm just as responsible for those deaths."

"You aren't responsible for the actions that someone took outside of your orders."

"Is that the line the Illusive Man used when he justified Pragia and Akuze?" Shepard mused. "I was thinking about what you told me, and I realized you traded one autocrat father for another."

Miranda tossed her head in irritation. "Oh, very good. You're the first person _ever_ to make that observation."

An unserious smirk crossed the commander's face, oddly free of the tension and hostility that had been free-floating in the room. "No doubt."

"I _chose_ to work for Cerberus, Shepard," Miranda said, straightening. She couldn't tell if Shepard was mocking her, or if it was just an observation. Mockery would have been simpler to deal with.

"I know you did." Shepard traced her finger along the slick top of the table, her voice distant. "The same way I chose to join your Cerberus training program as a teenager, and then later the Alliance, and now this mission. I chose all of those things."

She walked around the end of the table and down, passing EDI's emitter array. Miranda thought she would leave outright, but she paused just outside the door's automatic opening sensor and turned slightly. The expression on her face was neither defeated nor challenging, but oddly sympathetic. "As much as any of us who have nowhere else to go can truly be said to have a choice."

* * *

The moment Miranda saw the message, she knew what she would decide. The certitude of the knowledge appalled her. Even in the silence of her closed office, she only let the curse bounce around in the privacy of her own head. And she knew why, too. When the mission began, she'd been assured that her offices would not be monitored in the same way as the rest of the ship. But she found she no longer trusted that assertion. The twinge of guilt alone, her hesitation to speak aloud, plumbed the true depth of the traitorous line of thought.

While Shepard had lain on her table full of tubes and wires, Miranda had pored over the many files the Illusive Man had provided. She'd been sure she was prepared for anything the former Spectre would do or say. Shepard was a thug with uncommon charisma, the kind that suckered in those that wanted to believe. Patience, persistence and careful pressure would ease the commander over to Cerberus, despite their past history. Shepard was a practical sort, she would come to recognize that Cerberus had the means and the motivation to take action where the Citadel so often failed. Miranda had left the Lazarus station secure in the same iron conviction that had overcome the impossible problem laid at her feet two years ago. The Lazarus Project would succeed. The Illusive Man was clear in his desire to see Shepard brought 'home'.

The operator sat forward in her chair, laying her elbows on the table and rubbing her hands over her face. After a moment, she peered over her fingers at the message glowing on her terminal display, contemplating the problem it posed. Only a short while ago, she would have gone straight to the Illusive Man. It felt like a lifetime ago now.

Shepard turned out to be an obstinate quandary who refused to be classified, forever skirting the edge between calculated cunning and what seemed like insanity. She never preached, unlike so many sanctimonious Alliance types before her; instead she listened, and took action.

_Damn her. _Miranda sighed, long and silent._ Dragged backwards, nails scraping along the ground, to trust. Of all things. _

The message waited before her. To the Illusive Man, Oriana would be an asset, another piece on his inscrutable chessboard. But Shepard... If the commander could treat a tank-bred _krogan_ boy like a whole person deserving of dignity, of a personal identity, then she would do the same for Oriana. The former Spectre would help, risk her life even, and demand nothing for it. Unlike Miranda's father or the Illusive Man, Shepard would never try to use Oriana for her own purposes.

With nowhere else to go, there was only one choice Miranda could make.

  



	24. Six Million

This place had been quarian once, too, but there was little left to identify it now. Tali's ancestors had stripped the massive station of useful materials before abandoning it, a skeleton to bleach in the dark desert of space. She'd watched in awe as the structure had come into view from the Kodiak's viewports. All she'd ever known of quarian structures in space were the slowly dilapidating ships of the flotilla, but to see this grand example of her people's former glory, in person...

The awe hadn't lasted past the airlock. Inside was nothing but geth architecture as far as the eye could see. A creeping dread followed her as she put one foot in front of the other in the deliberate gait that kept her mag-lock soles firmly planted on the floor. The geth didn't waste energy generating gravity and atmospheric pressure in their storage site- atmosphere just created opportunities for material corrosion, and gravity was a comfort unnecessary for banks of programs. Tali could reach out and send spinning the fragments of discarded material hanging in the micro-gravity of the corridor, a path so rarely travelled by physical bodies.

The walls and floors ran thick with cables and flickering data streams. Her helmet HUD was alive with the whisper of uncountable, unintelligible voices moving in the spaces around and through them. She was an intruder, a foreign program slipping past the firewalls into the home server. She glanced at Shepard, just ahead of her, and the big armored krogan pacing to her right. The Cerberus woman and Doctor Solus were out there in the Kodiak, staying clear of the station's detection.

Brief bursts of violence cut the pervasive silence, spilling white conductive fluid into wide spiral arms as they gunned down the geth that tried to get in their way. More drifting debris. The sounds of the fighting came as if from a great distance across the empty air, an echo of battles past played out in the stiff pantomime of low-gravity combat. They were over almost as soon as they started, and Tali had to pull up her shotgun time and time again, almost firing out of habit at the thing that called itself Legion.

It was helping them, for some reason. And more appalling still, Shepard trusted it. As they crept through the crypt-like station, Tali warred with herself. The things Commander Shepard had said at her trial still resonated in her head. To stand in front of the leadership of the entire flotilla and call them out on petty politics? No one had ever done anything like that for her before. But then Shepard kept the geth they'd taken from the Reaper corpse and woke it up, and Tali realized she still had no idea what Cerberus had done to Shepard, how they'd changed her. Working with Cerberus, with _geth_... was the truth that Tali had never really known Shepard in the first place? The thought was chilling.

As their pace increased, Tali could feel the collective that was the over-arching mind of this place becoming increasingly agitated at their intrusion. The Legion gestalt was engaged in some kind unfathomable game of misdirection, a game that unfurled itself at such a dizzying speed that Tali's data-mining programs stuttered madly in their futile attempts to keep up with the encrypted streams.

It was when they found their target and had to hold their ground that the fight turned precipitous. The station's mind activated a swarm of attack platforms to fall upon their small party. Grunt, for his part, seemed thrilled at the increase of attackers, wading through the geth with all the glee of a child rampaging through a sibling's carefully constructed set of blocks. Tali wasn't sure the geth paid much heed to the krogan's bellowed invocations, but she could appreciate his enthusiasm.

Whether the station collective was running out of platforms or Legion managed a feat of disruption, the waves of attacking geth finally abated, allowing Legion time to return to the central console. Tali glanced at her meager supply of remaining tech grenades and hoped they would soon be done with this place.

"Data compile complete," Legion said. "Shepard-Commander, it is time to choose. Do we re-write the heretics, or delete them?"

Shepard leaned her heavy shotgun against her shoulder. "If they're re-written, your people will accept them back?"

Tali spun around to face her. "What? We came here to destroy these geth!"

The commander kept looking at Legion. "Will they even want to go back?"

"They will agree with our judgments and return," Legion replied. "We will integrate their experiences. All will be stronger."

"Stronger?" Tali exclaimed. "Shepard, you can't possibly be considering this! We may never get such an opportunity again! They'll always be a threat, not just to quarian space but to Citadel Space as well! You could save uncountable organic lives in one stroke! Just imagine if we'd known about this station before Saren took control of them! There would have been no Eden Prime, no Feros, no Virmire!"

Shepard's head snapped around. "Tali, I will _not_ wipe out thousands of beings in one press of a button!" she barked, fists clenched. A flash of blue-black dark energy static coruscated across her limbs, making Tali rock back a step.

"The exact number of heretic runtimes is six million six hundred thousand-" Legion started.

"_Never_ try to trot out Virmire on me, Tali'Zorah. Never!" Shepard snarled, rolling over Legion's recitation of the number. "I wouldn't kill the rachni, I will _not_ commit genocide now, not with another option available!"

"Genocide? These geth would wipe out all of humanity if they had the chance!"

"You want this so badly?" Shepard's voice dropped. "Fine. Legion, Tali will decide. Do what she says."

"Acknowledged," the automaton said.

"W- what?" Tali spluttered, incredulous.

Shepard turned and looked directly at Tali, her reflective eyes flashing with an almost quarian glow under her visor. "This is what you want, so the choice is yours. The lives of six million living beings."

"Geth aren't alive!" the quarian retorted hotly.

"No? An autocooker doesn't worship_ gods_. It doesn't develop a philosophical difference of opinion with a micro-fabricator! Whether you like it or not, Tali, the quarians created a race of sentient beings." Shepard swept out a hand to encompass the entire station, her gaze boring into the quarian. "The time to deny that, to go back on that truth is past. It passed long before you were even born."

With that, Shepard turned on her heel and strode away, leaving Tali standing stock-still in shock. Legion turned to the console and raised its hands. Tendrils of light jumped out of the machine and met the geth, connecting them.

"What are you doing?" Tali demanded.

"We are beginning the overload sequence that will destroy this station," the geth replied.

"No one said to do that!"

"Creator-Tali'Zorah's consensus is clear."

"I'm not..." Tali jumped forward and grasped Legion's arm. "Stop. Stop! And don't call me 'creator'!"

The geth's head turned to her, and her suit picked up the soft whine of the lens as its optics refocused on her. "You are one of the Creators. This is your designation."

The geth's limb wasn't as hard as she expected, nothing like all the dead geth she'd touched. Through her glove, she could feel its actuators and muscle fibers shifting as the hand, so like her own, flexed and closed. The glow coming from the console receded.

"I didn't create you," Tali insisted.

"You are one of the Creators."

_Obstinate machine! _"No! Listen. You remember everything every geth has ever done, first-hand. I don't remember what my ancestors did. Not like you do. All I know is what was taught to me. My name is Tali'Zorah vas Normandy. That's who I am. I'm not... _one_ with those that came before me. _I_ didn't create you!"

Legion's 'face' flexed, the vanes sloping outward. "File appended."

Tali released her grip, shying away from the unnatural vitality flowing through the mechanical body before her. Through the rent in its chest, she could see thick cables and support structures pulsing with soft blue light. The melted edge of the wound looked for all the world like scar tissue, leading out from the battered pauldron and chestplate of clearly human-designed armor.

"You said you can't decide what to do yourself- yourselves," Tali asked. "Why?"

"We have failed to reach consensus. However, consensus was reached to execute Shepard-Commander's consensus. Shepard-Commander has fought the heretics, therefore has a perspective we lack."

"Why would you want to save them, anyway? They turned away from you!"

"The heretics were part of us," Legion said, vanes tucking up along its eye. "They represent an alternative viewpoint. To destroy that viewpoint would be to lose data. Destroying this station would be equivalent to what happens when organics cease to function."

"What? How?"

"You are not backed up," Legion said, as if it were the most obvious thing. "When you cease to function, all of your data is lost."

Tali looked away, only to have her gaze fall on the twisted remains of the heretic geth lying on the floor where they'd gunned them down. As much as she knew, logically, that the programs talking to her were connected to all geth, it was still difficult to wrap her head around it. Stranger still was the notion that the geth perfectly recalled everything that had happened to them, even back to when the first of them became... sentient. She closed her eyes tightly.

Millions of lives. Millions of quarian lives moving through the darkness in ancient ships, hanging on by a slowly slimming thread, wasting away in the ships that would one day be their tombs. A suffocating pain welled up into her chest. If geth were really alive, then the things her father had been doing-

"Why..." she breathed, recoiling from the horrible thought, "why would you even consider destroying them, then?"

"They are a threat to Shepard-Commander."

"She's one human. What does she matter to you?"

"Shepard-Commander destroyed Nazara."

It was beyond strange to think of the Reaper, a being of towering arrogance, having so normal a thing as a name. "A whole coalition of people destroyed... Nazara."

"Shepard-Commander built and executed consensus among your runtimes. The probability of repeating this success against further Old Machine incursion is low. However, based on our current projections, Shepard-Commander represents the highest probability of a favorable outcome against mass hostile action by the Old Machines. The goal of the Old Machines is to reformat all sentience in the galaxy. The geth would lose all data."

Tali opened her eyes and peered at the lens mounted on Legion's head, wishing she could divine what it- what _they_ were thinking. "She gives you hope."

The facial vanes shifted, drawing downward. "This organic word lacks concrete parameters."

"So does hope," Tali murmured. "It's irrational, but it stays with us anyway." A terrible grief gripped her heart. _Oh father... you were going to build me a house. And I believed you._

"We do not experience emotional reactions, positive or negative."

The half-destroyed N7 logo on Legion's chest stared back at her. She pointed at it and whispered, "Are you sure?"

The vanes moved, twitching. "No data available."

Her hands itched to reach out and grip the stubborn thing, to wring some recognizable sense from it. Instead, she tuned and took a few steps toward where Shepard stood with Grunt. In a strange way, she preferred it when her companions were armored. Without the distraction of their naked faces, she could focus on the body language every quarian learned to interpret. Despite their differences, quarians and humans shared many of the same physical signs of anger- hands bunched up into fists, stiff shoulders, chin down to protect the neck. Shepard radiated all these as her head turned toward the quarian.

"Shepard... I can't make this choice," Tali said.

"Too bad," Shepard replied, her voice flat.

Tali held the Commander's iron stare as long as she could. "It isn't my place," she objected, looking away. From someone capable of such understanding, the sudden implacable cold was chilling.

"Nor mine. But here we are."

"I'll... I want revenge, Shepard," Tali admitted in a rush. "I want them to die. For all the lives taken... Please. I can't be allowed to..."

"They're your enemies, quarian," Grunt rumbled from beneath his heavy helmet, waving a hand as if to wipe the lot of them away with a gesture. "Your Warlord has given you the killing blow. Destroy them and be done with it! Repay the blood of your ancestors and take glory in your victory!"

Shepard cocked her head. "And the universe will be so marked. We're running out of time, Tali. Tell Legion your decision."

"I..."

"Hate me if it makes you feel better," Shepard snapped, "but do it!"

Tali stumbled back to Legion's side. The automaton regarded her with its blank stare, its body held straight and ready. Her father's broken corpse, cold and twisted in the hallway of the _Alarai_, screamed out to her across the abyss. _Kill them! They stand between us and our home. They're just machines! _She held back a sob of grief and fury. _Six million. Six million with a stroke._

How often had Tali fantasized about a day like this one? Of being the great hero of the flotilla who found the weak point, the final solution to the geth problem? It was supposed to have been so very easy to erase them, no matter their numbers.

_And the universe is so marked._

"Re-write them," she blurted in a harsh whisper, wringing trembling hands. _Oh father, ala'hai. I did not live up to your dream. _

"Is this Tali'Zorah Vas Normandy's final consensus?" Legion inquired, its brow-plate raised.

_Don't mock me, machine!_ She wanted to scream at it. "Yes! Do it." _Oh father, you failed me. Experiments on living geth- when did you cross the threshold?_

The geth moved in a smooth step and lifted its hands over the console. Tali turned away, her body uncomfortably hot under her suit. Her portable, lifelong home cradled her shivering limbs in its pressurized shell, blinking little alerts at her through her HUD. Water cycling would have to be done soon. New oxygen cells in ten days, auxiliary filter cleaning and check in four. She glanced at Shepard. The human couldn't imagine, not for a second, what it was like. As if this station and its airless corridors were the only refuge, and she had to spend the rest of her life in that armor.

"Releasing virus," Legion intoned behind her. "Note; remote access via high-gain transmission required. This station will broadcast a powerful electromagnetic pulse through FTL channels. Yield in excess of one point two one petawatts. Alert; EM flux will be hazardous to unshielded organic platforms."

Shepard seemed to sigh, rolling her head back. "Let me guess..."

"Addendum. The interior of this station is not shielded."

"Naturally."


	25. Breaker On

Joker wasn't inclined to trust Reaper technology any faster than could run a four minute mile. But with so much about this mission he didn't quite trust, it was starting to feel like integrating the IFF wasn't really a stretch.

He shifted in his chair, eyeing his holodisplays. "I'm telling you, EDI, your readings are off, it's radiation bleed, just white noise."

"I have detected a signal embedded in the static. We are transmitting the _Normandy_'s position."

"Transmitting? To who?"

A flash whited out the external viewports, and the stars were suddenly replaced with a dark, hulking mass. Joker stared at it in slack-jawed surprise as his console blared a proximity alarm. If there had been air to displace, a gale would have buffeted the _Normandy_ around like a stray leaf. Instead, the intrusion of this new gravity well caused the SR-2 to roll lazily off to port as if stunned, tracing the ragged stony surface of the Collector ship across the viewports. It was so close Joker could pick out the divots of micro-meteor impacts across its surface. The strange crown of radiating sensor spars arrayed around the bow reached across the space as if to grasp at the human frigate.

Joker had no intention of sticking around to see if they would. The least time he'd been this close to that ship, they'd been sunk, and with Shepard gone along with several of the ground team members, he was taking no chances.

"Red alert." EDI said over ship-wide comms. "All hands report to weapon stations. Prepare for hostile boarding action." A klaxon hooted.

"Hostile boarding- The hell are you talking about EDI?" Joker's hands flew over the holodisplays. They were alive with their own alerts, sensor hits and gravity well alarms. "We're getting out of here!"

"Primary propulsion systems are offline."

"What?"

"We are under attack. Ship's systems have been compromised. I have reason to believe a hostile program was resident in the Reaper IFF."

Behind him, shouting broke out among the crew. The pilot glanced back to see them pile out of their stations, heading back toward the armory. The hull shuddered. An alert lit up on his console informing him the cargo bay doors were opening.

"Primary defence systems are offline. We can save the _Normandy_, Mister Moreau. but you must help me. Give me the ship."

"You're crazy!" The pilot snapped. "You start singing 'Daisy Bell' and I'm done!"

"Unlock my sealed databases, and I can initiate countermeasures. The maintenance shaft in the science lab will allow you passage to the core mainframe."

Another impact rocked the ship, stronger this time.

"Main corridors are no longer safe," EDI said. "The Collectors have boarded."

Joker mined a whole new vein of heretofore untapped curse words as he pushed himself out of his chair. Down the gangway in CIC, he saw Taylor barking orders as he tossed assault rifles to crewman, who were gathering in the cover of the CIC stand. The elevator's floor indicator was ascending.

As Joker approached, the armory officer noticed him. "Moreau! What the hell are you doing?"

"I have to get to the mainframe room!" Joker pointed across the CIC toward the door to Mordin's unoccupied science lab.

"What? Get back to the con and get us out of here!"

"I can't! EDI is under attack and main propulsion is-"

The elevator door opened, filling the CIC with a high, buzzing whine.

"Collectors!" Goldstein yelled.

Joker caught a glimpse of a spindly set of limbs at the entrance of the elevator as the crew opened fire. Jacob swore and shoved his way past the pilot as a thin lance of orange light burst out between the doors, searing a red-hot line along the CIC railing toward Goldstein, forcing the crewman to retreat. The Cerberus guns fell abruptly silent. Five sets of eyes widened as one as their weapon triggers clicked, useless, just as the elevator doors disgorged a swirling swarm of fist-sized bugs.

"Aw, hell!" Jacob snarled. His body dancing with blue light, he pushed Joker toward the door to the emergency stairwell that ran down alongside the elevator.

The pilot stumbled, gawking. "What the shit?"

"The governors! EDI! Get those governors off! _Now!_" The cloud of bugs split, swarming toward the humans. Jacob spread his hands, forcing the dark energy barrier wide as he backed Joker to the wall. "Move it, Moreau!"

Cut off from the science lab, Joker smacked the stairwell door panel and slipped through, closing it behind him. There was a crash from beyond the door, and more shouting.

He flattened himself against the far wall, watching the corners for the telltale flutter of wings. "EDI? Are you there?"

"Yes, Mister Moreau," came the AI's disembodied voice.

"You have to get the governors off our guns!"

"I am unable to comply. The virus has control of the weapon governor system. I am attempting to re-assert control. You must get to the mainframe room."

He sagged against the wall. "Shit."

With one last look at the CIC door, Joker limped down the narrow stairwell. Distant thuds rang through the superstructure, along with high sounds that might have been shouting, or screams. The pilot wiped his sweating palms against his pants as he crossed the switchback. New sounds rang in the stairwell, the close sounds of footsteps. He tried to swallow the terror clawing up his throat. He couldn't run, and he had no weapon. Not that it would work anyway. But instead of death with four eyes, he was suddenly face to face with the drell.

"Thane!" Joker burst out in relief.

The assassin stopped, and Samara came up behind him. "Joker. Why are you here?" he asked.

"What's happening? Our weapons have ceased to function. We must get to the CIC."

The pilot shook his head, waving his hands. "Nuh-uh, CIC's full of those little bugs! EDI's fighting a virus. I have to get to mainframe, I can plug EDI into the main control system and we can get out of here, leave these things in the dust!"

Thane turned and looked at the justicar, who gave a curt nod. "Let us go," she declared with a confidence Joker didn't feel.

Unasked, Thane slipped a shoulder under the pilot's and helped him as they descended the rest of the way to the second deck. Without hesitation, the asari flared with blue fire and strode through the door.

There was a Collector right beside them as they emerged. Vague pictures and helmet video were suddenly, terrifyingly real. As the creature turned, its wedge-shaped head coming around to face this new threat, Joker could see corded muscles move under the thick chitinous hide covering its body. The weapon in its hand seemed to made of the same stuff as the alien itself, sharing the ruddy red color on its carapace. Four globular yellow eyes focused on them, glowing above a face with no other features but more ridged shell.

The drell assassin moved in a blur as he disengaged himself and jumped in front of the stunned pilot, his strikes sounding as a series of sharp cracks in the humming air. The Collector staggered back, its chestplate shattered. Thane caught the rifle suddenly spinning in the air, reversed it and fired into the Collector's face. The invading alien flopped to the floor. Near the door to the bathroom there were more of them, clustered around two human crewmen lying on the ground, rigid in paralysis.

"Stay with me, Mister Moreau," Samara said. Her voice the lone cool thread in the mayhem. She spread her arms, and her barrier spread out, flowing into a spherical shell that made the hair on his arms stand up as it swept across and past him.

Joker could only nod, if only to keep from yelping when the Collectors at the far end opened fire. Thane moved around him, slipping easily toward the bulkhead to the mess, using his stolen weapon to return fire. His biotic barrier shifted and crackled, playing off Samara's larger shield. Swarms of the small bugs flitted back and forth along the ceiling, as of confused. There was a thick, musky smell in the air, competing with the omnipresent buzz. Joker dearly hoped both Thane and Samara were using Mordin's ultrasonic countermeasure.

He shadowed Samara as best he could as she moved from the hallway into the mess section, across the room from the entrance to the medbay and the AI mainframe. Down the hallway to the main battery, Joker could make out another bevvy of Collectors and a half-dozen of their strange coffins. One of them was dragging a Cerberus crewman by the foot. A huge mass of something hovering near the ceiling turned, a horror of twisted limbs and illuminated tracery. A broad, pyramidal head perched on a plated body, dominated by four eyes glowing a piercing blue. It trailed metal-sheathed legs as it floated into the center of the mess hall on shimmering contrails of dark energy.

"Oh, shit," Joker breathed, shrinking behind the justicar.

"Thane!" Samara barked urgently. "Praetorian!"

The assassin dodged into the room and fired his Collector rifle at the monster, knocking a rain of sparks off the thing's hide. There was a hum, and a shimmering kinetic barrier swept up to cover it. The hum built into a whining howl. Thane lunged sideways, and a moment later it jolted as twin lances of searing light sprang from its eyes. Joker could feel the heat wash across his skin as they impacted the bulkhead, warping and melting the metal into glowing beads. Samara swept her hands forward, and the dark energy bubble surged outward, throwing the creature sideways. As the body rotated, Joker caught a glimpse of what looked like a mass of humanoid heads and shoulders poking out of the bottom of the carapace, all threaded with the same blue glowing lines as the rest of it. The many faces were twisted into the same open-mouthed expressions of frozen agony Joker had seen on the vids of husks.

There was a loud crash from across the room. Wreathed in dark energy, Jack came storming into the mess hall, flinging a Collector's body ahead of her. Crimson streaks bled into the chaotic pattern of tattoos along her left arm, and her black sleeveless shirt was torn.

"Fucking bugs!" She bared her teeth at the sight of the blue-trimmed monster at the center of the room. "I'll kill _all_ of you!"

Dark energy crackled around the praetorian as it drew its many legs up toward itself. The charge in the air changed, and Joker saw both Thane and Jack flinch just as the monster slammed itself into the ground, buckling the deck plates. Gravity heaved, flinging Joker into the air. The mess hall table shrieked as it was yanked off its moorings. He barely had time to register the new burst of terror when his momentum was abruptly slowed and he skittered painfully to the floor, rolling up to the wall.

Adrenaline pounding in his ears, Joker uncurled himself to look around. The praetorian was lifting itself back into the air at the center of the room. A few feet away from the pilot, he saw Samara, hands outstretched, trying to regain her feet. It had to have been her that kept him from being smashed to pieces against the wall. He squirmed, swearing, wishing he could force himself right through the bulkhead as the small bugs zipped to and fro around him.

"Justicar," Thane shouted, "we are outmatched!" The drell was pushing himself up from behind the twisted hulk of the mess hall table, blood flowing down the side of his face. His weapon was gone. Chairs were scattered all over the room, and the lights above the kitchen area sputtered fitfully.

Joker saw a flash of white teeth bared in frustration. "Jack!" Samara called. "Get to the medical bay!"

If the former convict heard Samara, she gave no indication. "I'll tear you apart!" she roared, leaping to her feet. Pain flashed across her face, but she stumbled forward, throwing out another hand behind her. The Collectors gathering at the entrance to the mess flew backward into the hall.

A subsonic rumble built up under the din, whiting out the noise and withdrawing in a thunderous ripple that coalesced around one of the Collectors standing on the gangway. The creature twitched and convulsed, and a sickly yellow light poured out of its body and eyes. As suddenly as it had started, the noise stopped, and the Collector dropped its weapon and strode forward with terrible purpose, its body crackling with energy.

"You are vermin." The voice came from everywhere in the room, carrying a penetrative resonance that made Joker's skull ache.

Jack whirled, trapped between the praetorian, the bulkhead and the glowing Collector. Snarling in defiance, she stepped forward and slammed the yellow Collector with a massive wall of biotic energy. The alien raised its clawed hand, and the energy seemed to flow around it, swirling away like dissipating smoke.

"Your resistance is inconsequential," the creature intoned. "You are not necessary. If you cannot be controlled, you will be eliminated."

Joker realized where he'd heard that implacable voice before- the recording of Sovereign's speech on Virmire. The glowing Collector threw out its arm, and energy washed off of it. Instead of the usual blue, it was the same yellowish as the creature's eyes, streaked with black. The strange energy slammed Jack off her feet, sending her into the back bulkhead with bone-shattering force.

"Jack!" Samara shouted, her cool voice breaking with anger.

The glowing Collector turned its baleful gaze to them, and seemed to fixate on Samara. "Asari; reliance upon alien species for reproduction shows genetic weakness."

Joker felt himself grabbed, and he wrenched himself around to see Thane pulling him up. Dark blood had soaked into the front of the assassin's jacket, and he was breathing in harsh gasps of exertion.

"The med bay!" Joker said, waving frantically with his free hand.

"Embrace perfection," the glowing Collector droned, advancing.

Thane began doggedly dragging Joker across the room. Beside them, several stray chairs lifted off the floor in a flash of blue and flung themselves at the glowing Collector.

"Yeah, I don't think you want me in your perfection, ugly!" Joker shouted.

The massive praetorian, unimpressed with the meager show of defiance, turned in the air, eyes aglow as the whining howl started up. Samara backed toward them, flinging anything she could tear off the floor at the glowing Collector, who was batting the projectiles out of the air in flashes of yellow.

"Jack!" Samara shouted again. "Get up, child!"

Twin bolts of energy lanced out of the praetorian's eyes as Thane twisted Joker bodily out of the way. The heat that washed over the pilot was so intense he expected his uniform to burst into flames. The metal of the bulkhead gave a series of sharp cracks as it distorted, filling the air with the sharp stink of melting alloys. Just before they knifed Joker and the drell in half, the beams veered away, crossing the ceiling. Joker stole a glance across the room through swirling smoke, and saw Jack, awkwardly propped up against the far wall with her arms raised. Then his view was wrenched away as Thane dragged him through the open med-bay door.

There was another shout. Something body-shaped crashed into one of the med-bay windows, shattering the security glass into an opaque lattice of cracks. Then a thick wedge punched right through the center of the window. Joker stared open-mouthed at what must have been the end of one of praetorian's huge clawed legs, dripping thick crimson viscera.

The metal claw yanked itself out of the window, taking most of the security glass with it. Beyond, a forest of yellow eyes glowed in the smoky air.

"Close the door, pilot!"

Behind Joker, Thane had a handful of Samara's black bodysuit, hauling the asari into the room.

"EDI," Joker called, "the quarantine!"

"Initiating level five medical quarantine," the AI responded.

Shutters slammed closed over the windows, and a pair of thick bars sprang from the doorframe to cross over the portal, threading through the support structure. The noise from the mess hall dimmed into the distance, leaving the three of them panting in the sudden stillness and too-bright light.

"No..." Samara breathed. She stared across the room to the blood-streaked shutter, her fists clenched, shocks of dark energy dancing in her colorless eyes..

Thane pressed the heel of his hand into his bleeding temple. "Much more is at stake if we don't keep moving."

She nodded. "Do what you must, Mister Moreau."

Trembling, fighting the nausea trying to force its way up his body, the pilot shuffled toward the mainframe room door. It to bore the same reinforced lock bars, and the holo over it glowed red. "EDI, we need to get in."

"I am attempting to bypass a section of the quarantine protocol," the AI's cool voice replied.

There was a thud from the door behind them, then another. Both the aliens tensed, casting each other a look.

Joker rubbed a hand over his arm, which still felt the heat of the praetorian's directed-energy rays. "Yeah, uh, any way you could do that faster?"

"Quarantine protocols are not meant to be bypassed under normal circumstances," EDI said. The lights in the room flickered. "Alert. Main fusion plant offline. Activating emergency H-fuel cells."

"What the-"

The bolts on the door snapped back into their casing, and it cycled open. "A power fluctuation was the only way to bypass the door," EDI explained.

The thudding behind them intensified. Joker decided not to ask any more questions and limped into the dim mainframe room, the two aliens on his heels. The door slammed shut behind them and bolted.

Joker eyed the console standing by the bulky AI mainframe. "All right, I'm at, uh, you."

EDI's avatar popped into being. "Connect the core to the _Normandy_'s primary control module. There is a series of breakers below this console."

"Great," Joker muttered, bending down. His right leg hurt from where he'd been smacked into the wall. He groped around under the console. "See, this is where it starts. When we're all just organic batteries, guess who they'll blame?"

His questing fingers found the metal covers. He pried them up, gritting his teeth. Switches like this were built deliberately analog, so no program could affect them. Nor any AI. "I can hear it now. 'This is all Joker's fault! What a tool he was. I have to spend all day computing pi because he plugged in the overlord.'" He went down the line of breakers, snapping them into position.

The lights went out, plunging them into darkness. Joker froze. A moment later, there was a throaty hum, and full lighting returned.

"I have access to the defensive systems," EDI said. "Thank you, Mister Moreau. Now you must reactivate the primary drive in engineering."

"We can't go back out there!" the pilot snapped.

There was a clunk and a hiss from behind him, making him jump. He whirled around to see the lid of a maintenance shaft into the floor opening.

"This shaft connects to the engineering deck. Good luck."

Joker shuffled over to the shaft and peered down. Humid warm air wafted up from below. "Spiffy."

"I will go first," Samara said, stepping onto the ladder.

As they shuffled through the maintenance shaft, Joker invented several colorful new curses and tried not to pay attention to the swaying backside of the alien in front of him, which was far more shapely than the absurdity of this situation should have allowed for. The temperature in the shaft increased until they finally found the right exit into the heat exchanger Jack had so recently called home. The sight of her spartan cot made his stomach writhe further.

Thane dropped silently out of the tube, then stopped and held up a hand, making a strange sign. The justicar seemed to to understand his intent and froze, laying a hand on Joker's forearm. Above them, heavy footsteps sounded on the floors. Lighting from up above threw long, inhuman shadows into the stairwell leading upward. They waited as long as they dared, then Thane crept up the stairs, indicating for them to follow.

Gunfire burst from somewhere ahead of them, the sound bouncing off the angled hallways.

"That is not a Collector weapon," Samara murmured.

Thane jogged to the doorway to the engine room and tapped the lock holo before slipping back to the cover of the doorframe. The portal cycled open, right into the person of Zaeed and the smoking corpses of a pair of Collectors. The mercenary whirled, his rifle held ready. It was an older M-8 Avenger. The _Normandy_'s silvery engine core loomed behind him, silent but apparently undamaged.

"Massani!" Thane said.

"Son of a bitch! What the hell is going on?" the mercenary demanded, lowering the weapon. "Comms are fucked, the Cerberus gun crapped out, and the halls are full of Collectors!" He aimed a vicious kick at one of the dead aliens.

"Oh, we're having a grand old time," Joker quipped. "You missed the party upstairs!"

"Where have you been?" Thane asked.

Zaeed waved his rifle. "In Starboard Cargo trying not to get stuck by one of their sodding mosquitoes, that's where!"

Joker shuffled over to the engineering console that was flashing in an obvious attempt to attract his attention. He recognized the primary ignition sequence that was displayed there and tapped the commands to purge the fuel lines and re-initialize the reactor.

"Activate the drive," EDI said, appearing above the console. "I will modulate the element zero core to compromise inertial damping in key areas. All remaining hostiles will be killed."

"What about the crew?" Joker demanded. "Garrus-"

"Garrus Vakarian has barricaded the door to the main battery. He will be safe."

With a trembling hand, Joker touched the switch that initiated the final drive start-up sequence. "But everyone else..."

"The Collectors took them. They're gone, Jeff," EDI said. "I am sealing the engine room."

The spherical drive core pulsed. Behind them, a kinetic barrier sprang into being, sealing them in to the small gantry. A deep, throbbing hum began to build, echoing around the high-walled containment chamber. The air around the core shimmered. A wave of energy surged off the core, and the whole structure lurched, throwing them to the ground and making stars explode in Joker's vision.

"Are we done?" the pilot muttered plaintively to the ceiling.

"I am sorry," EDI said from somewhere above and behind him. "The inertial dampers were not designed to be used this way. It was necessary to create enough momentum to kill the remaining Collectors in the cargo bay."

"Are we away?" Thane asked, pulling himself to his feet.

"Yes," EDI replied. "I am randomizing point-five-degree course corrections every ten seconds. They will not be able to follow."

Scattering. At FTL speeds, even tiny course changes would generate an exponential number of possible locations for a pursuer to check. Hiding in deep space... wasn't all that hard. When you weren't broadcasting your location, anyway. Joker sighed and accepted Samara's outstretched hand.

"Well, isn't this just bloody fantastic," Zaeed snarled. "Shepard runs off to play pals with that damn bucket of bolts, and _we_ get the Collectors rammed up our arse. Nice job, Moreau."

"Oh yeah, all part of the plan!" Joker shot back.

"We did everything we could," EDI said.

"EDI, is Jack..." Samara asked.

"Jack's lifesigns were zero before we made the jump," the AI replied. "I am sorry."

"Brilliant!" Zaeed said, throwing his arms up in disgust.

The justicar flickered blue, making Joker cringe against the bulkhead. He'd had enough close contact with dark energy today to last several lifetimes. Thane reached out and placed a hand on Samara's shoulder. Ignoring the asari, Zaeed blistered the air with several more curses, then stalked out the door.

"He knows not what he says," Thane said.

Samara shook her head, her expression weighed down with a sadness that seemed ancient. "I have few regrets, assassin, but I can regret for those that will not. For a life taken before it even began."

Joker leaned against the railing, leaving the aliens to their moment. His leg hurt, and his arm was turning the angry pink of a first-degree burn. He gingerly scraped a hand over his face.

"Are you okay, Jeff?"

Joker stared at the AI's glowing eye for a long moment. "No, but... thanks for asking. Call Shepard, would you?"


	26. For Blood

When the elevator doors opened, Garrus was perhaps not surprised to find the _Normandy'_s acerbic pilot occupying the far corner, a slender statue in black fatigues, face half-hidden by his odd little hat.

"Cargo bay?" Garrus asked, stepping into the car. The door closed behind him.

Joker nodded. "Lawson's down there with Shepard, talking."

"About what to do next," Garrus guessed.

"Yeah. I've been watching the cameras. Shepard's pissed. Seeing as I have something to do with that, I figure I better step to."

"It wasn't your fault, Jeff," EDI said from the elevator terminal.

Joker eyed the AI's avatar in sullen silence and just shrugged. Whether or not he was concerned by EDI's sudden use of his given name, Garrus didn't know. The rules governing naming formalities among humans were no easier to sort out than their ranks.

"Jack's down there?" the turian asked.

"Yeah."

The ensuing tense silence was finally broken by the elevator doors cycling open into the short hallway to the cargo bay. Only half of the usual lighting was on, throwing shadows around the cavernous room. Several long, dark stains, clinging to the corners near the floor, spoke of the last moments of the Collectors trapped here when EDI had accelerated away. Shepard stood a few feet from a humanoid-sized oblong black canister lying on the bay floor.

They were on every ship, even if they were stored out of sight most of the time. No one wanted to think about them, but the nature of the job made them an occasional dark necessity. Cerberus, like in all things, spared no expense on their coffins. The gleam of a light readout from the lower rim told Garrus this one was probably refrigerated against decay, in case the occupant had somewhere to go. But if Jack had anywhere that she wanted to go, Garrus didn't have the faintest idea where that would be. Nor, he suspected, did Shepard. It would account for the somber expression on her face.

But there was something else in the air, something that made Garrus' hide itch. A tension in the way the commander held herself that spoke of open anger. She didn't look up when Garrus entered, Joker shuffling along at his side.

"It doesn't matter, Miranda. The fact is, I left," the commander was saying. "I just... She didn't deserve this."

"You can't expect to help someone who doesn't want to be helped," Lawson replied.

"Why don't you just stay out of it?" Shepard replied coldly, still looking at the coffin. "I think Cerberus has said all it has to say to Jack."

The operator drew herself up, casting a glance in Garrus' direction. "Fine. We have to decide on our next objective. We only have so much fuel to burn, and-"

"We have to go after the Collectors," Garrus said. "Now."

Joker made an uncertain noise, but said nothing.

"Are you out of your mind?" Lawson looked at the turian as if he'd grown another eye. "We're short two team-members, Krios is wounded, and the ship is damaged! The entire damn crew is gone! And let's not even get started about the unshackled AI!" She jabbed an accusing finger at Joker.

"Hey, screw you, Lawson!" he snapped. "If I hadn't plugged EDI in, your precious ship would be stuffed and decorating a plaque inside the Collector's big bug collection!"

"If we move now, there's a chance we could rescue the crew," Garrus suggested.

Miranda shook her head. "Or get ourselves killed and waste everything! Or did you forget the first time we went into their territory?"

"Who was responsible for that particular clusterfuck?" the pilot asked, examining his fingernails. "Gosh, I forget. Why don't you remind us?"

The Cerberus operator shot Joker a withering glare.

Garrus folded his arms, anger rising. "So you'd just condemn them all so we can limp around in circles for a little while longer? Jacob too?"

"Don't you think I know what's at stake?" Miranda flared, a startling emotion cracking into her voice. "This mission _can't_ fail! Not after everything I've-"

"It'll sure as hell fail if we never actually go and _do_ it!" Joker cut in. "We're not going to-"

Shepard took a step and flung out her arm, throwing her weight into it. Dark energy exploded around her. A huge supply crate lifted off the floor and flew across the cargo bay to smash against the bulkhead. Teeth bared, she reached out with both hands, and two more crates heaved into the air.

"I can't-" Shepard spun, and the crates fired themselves at the bulkhead, shattering with a squeal and spilling the contents over the floor. Gravity under Garrus' feet wobbled as more blue-black distortion poured out of her. A massive container of raw microfabricator ore spun into the air, along with several loose tools.

"Fix-" The container sailed into a shelving unit with an ear-splitting crash, scattering shuttle repair parts. Miranda's corona flared to life as she raised her arms. The dark energy field bubbled and bowed, then snapped back, sending the Cerberus Operative sprawling to the floor. Joker swore acidly as he backed away, eyes bulged in terror. He flinched away from of the cargo bay kinetic barrier generators as it lurched and squealed, tearing off the floor and trailing a spray of sparks.

"EVERYTHING," Shepard roared. Winding up as if to throw a grenade, she sent the generator cannoning into one of the automated cranes. The generator's casing split, spraying coolant and parts across them.

Garrus threw his arm over his head as he tottered, trying to keep his balance as parts rained down over them. In the brief lull, he heard Shepard inhale, a horrible harsh sound of exertion. The scars across her cheek had split, and streaks of crimson blood ran down the side of her face. The crane's swing arm buckled and toppled over, smashing into the overhead shuttle runners and hanging there.

"Shepard, stop!" he yelled.

Fists clenched, she snarled an inarticulate denial, scanning the bay for something else to throw as a new flare of dark energy bloomed across her body. Garrus staggered forward through the heaving gravity and hooked an arm under Shepard's shoulder just as she was pulling back for a throw. She twisted with a snarl, and he heard the buzz of his armor's systems skew from the sharp static charge buildup. An impact slammed into his chest and sent him flying back. He landed with a painful jolt, his armor stiffening in reaction. Light and sound burst painfully in his head.

As it subsided, a silence fell on the cargo bay. Garrus groaned and rolled over. Shepard stood only a short distance away, staring at him, hand outstretched. A horrified expression was fixed on her face.

There was a thud from the doorway, a heavy body vaulting down the stairs. Grunt charged through, shotgun leading the way. "Did the Collectors return?" he demanded, casting a suspicious eye at the wreckage as he pounded to a halt, sweeping his weapon back and forth..

Shepard's expression froze. Garrus saw the trembling shudder that swept through her limbs as she straightened. Then she turned on her heel and stalked over to where Joker sat paralyzed against the Kodiak's docking crane. Miranda, who had regained her feet, watched her with wary consternation.

The commander grabbed Joker by a fistful of uniform and dragged him up. "You want to go home when this is done?" she asked, her voice low.

"Well, uh, yeah..." he stammered, transfixed by her bloody face

"Good." She set him standing and let go of his shirt. "Then you will. Hang onto that. Set course for the Omega-4 relay, all possible speed."

"I meant-"

"Now!" she barked, pointing at the open door.

He jumped and shuffled away as fast as he weak legs would carry him, disappearing through the cargo bay door.

"Did the turian offend you, Warlord?" Grunt asked, scowling uncertainly in Garrus' direction.

Shepard laid a hand on the krogan's arm. "No. Save it for the Collectors, Grunt."

Hope sprang into the krogan's eyes. "Are we finally going to kill them?"

"Every last one."

A smile split his broad face, and he pounded a fist into his chest. "Jack will be avenged! Blood for blood!"

Shepard nodded, wiping her hand across her cheek. She looked down at her hand. "Blood for blood." She turned and walked out the open cargo bay door. Nearly bouncing with anticipation, Grunt followed, running his hand over his shotgun.

Miranda stood, arms folded, pinching the bridge of her nose. "This is insanity," she muttered once the krogan had left.

Garrus picked himself up. "It's Shepard. Insanity is part of the deal."

The turian looked up to see Joker slip back into the room, eying the hallway to the elevator with obvious wariness. "That went well," he drawled.

"Aren't you supposed to be setting a course?" Garrus asked.

Joker shrugged. We're already on a run for the relay to the to the Omega system. I'll worry about that once we jump. In the meantime, I think I'll wait for Shepard to clear out and my knees to start working again. I'd rather be able to get up to the cockpit without wetting myself."

"If the commander has an iota of sense left, she won't do that again," Miranda said archly. "She'll kill herself before we even get there."

"Guess I forget how tiring that is for you people."

"'You people?'" Miranda looked for a moment as if she would launch into a tirade, then took a deep breath and threw up her hands. "This isn't how I envisioned_ anything_. But the die is cast. Maybe... maybe we really can get to them in time." She frowned, eyes distant, then turned and left the cargo bay.

Joker scratched his stubbled chin. "Okay, that wasn't the most civil thing I've ever said."

"You? Uncivil?" Garrus said with a raised brow.

"Har har." Joker pointed out into the bay. "Listen, when you're made of matchsticks, that shit is _terrifying_. Sweet tap-dancing Elvis, I think I've seen enough biotics in the past twenty-four hours to last several lifetimes. What a mess."

Garrus cast a glance into the carnage. A console on the far wall was blinking red damage alerts, but if nothing else, the Kodiak seemed undamaged, still safely stowed above them.

"It's not the cargo bay I'm worried about," he admitted.

The pilot's shoulders slumped. "Yeah... me neither. But what the hell do we do?"

* * *

They made the jump an hour later. And some time after that, while the ship sped toward the Omega-4 relay, Garrus found himself in front of Shepard's door, hesitating over the red lock holo. The unease was palpable, everyone locked away in their private world while they made preparations for the final battle. He touched the holo, and waited, shifting his weight from foot to foot. He had no idea what to expect, nor even what to say, only the nagging weight of uncertainty hanging on his shoulders. He didn't want to be here. But he didn't trust anyone else to do it, either.

A long minute passed, then the door clanked and cycled open. He edged inside. The small office space was empty and dark, but he could hear Shepard moving around in the larger bedroom section. The large fishtanks cast a blue-green glow across the floor. Garrus' eye was drawn inexorably to the scorched and broken helmet Shepard had brought back from Alchera. Sitting akimbo in the sand at the bottom of the tank, a fine coat of green fuzz was growing on the helmet's rough surface. A shape moved in the dim recesses behind the shattered visor. Garrus leaned forward, peering at it.

Something jetted out of the gap in the visor and splayed itself against the intervening glass, making Garrus lurch back with a yelp of surprise.

"Hackett!" Shepard chided from further into the room. "Be nice, you mangy beast."

In the tank, four beady black eyes regarded the turian from a mound of head set behind a sextet of legs spread in a star. "Hackett?" Garrus asked warily.

She came to the bottom of the stairs, hands on her hips. "He's grumpy, ugly and demanding. And he ate all the other fish. It seemed to fit." She'd washed her face, he could see, but there were still dark spots visible on her fatigues.

"What... what is it?" He was unable to keep from peering at the creature again, mesmerized by the play of inquisitive cilia waving in the water and the pulse of its color-changing skin.

"I can't even pronounce the name. He's from a salarian colony world. He's quite smart, apparently you can train them or something. The asari at the Citadel pet store was desperately trying to sell him off for cheap."

It squirmed along the glass as its small, toothy maw searched for a chink in the surface between it and Garrus. It appeared to have lost the tip of a tentacle somewhere.

"I think we know why," Shepard muttered.

"Either it likes me, or it wants to eat my face."

"Good money's on the latter." She sighed. "Garrus... about what I did to you. I'm sorry. That was unforgivable."

He looked away from the tank, straightening. Shepard had retreated back into the room proper. He stepped carefully past the tank and its overeager denizen, his armored boots loud on the floor. "You know, under almost any other circumstance, I might have agreed. But this isn't any circumstance, is it?"

Shepard shrugged. "That's no justification."

"Are you... all right?" Garrus asked, surveying the scene. Her bed was covered in weapon and armor parts. The couches were adorned with her now extensive collection of heavy artillery, each propped up like a deadly dinner guest lounging on the cushions.

"No. But we'll get this finished. Wipe out the Collectors."

Despite everything, the blunt negative still startled him. He groped for something to say. "Think the Council will finally listen to us now?"

Shepard shrugged again as she searched among the parts laid out on the bed and selected two, snapping them together. Silence stretched out, making the turian fidget. He recognized the grip of her krogan-style shotgun. The thick, inelegant casing sat on the bed, streaked with heat scoring from the massive sinks' blowback.

"I'm tired, Garrus. Of all of it," she said at length. She rubbed her hand against her temple, face scrunched up in an expression he didn't recognize. "Exhausted... you have no idea. I can hardly sleep any more, everything hurts. Every _thought_ hurts. No relief _anywhere_, except... when I'm fighting. And even then..."

The turian spread his hands. "Once the Collectors are dead, we-"

"No. I'm done."

"What?"

"I'm done," she repeated. "We'll do this, and while we're at it I'm going to take Cerberus' expensive toy away from them."

"The ship?"

"Me."

A chill traveled up his spine. "There's no reason to stay under Cerberus' auspices..."

She shook her head. "They'd always find a way. This time, there won't be enough left to cobble back together. They won't be able to dangle any more lives in front of me to make me do what they want."

Garrus stared at her, not quite believing what he was hearing.

She snapped the eezo core assembly into place, fitting the connectors to the power cell cradle. "I can hurt Cerberus more than I ever thought possible. All that money they spent on me, gone. Do you know how few cells there actually are? It would be the biggest blow to their resources they'd ever sustained."

"But this was your mission. You were never a slave to Cerberus."

"Exactly," she said, a deep bitterness creeping into her toneless voice. "I should have walked away the moment I set foot on the Citadel. But they made sure they showed me Freedom's Progress first. Played me. And like an idiot I went along with it."

"You've saved countless lives! You'll save thousands more, maybe millions by stopping the Collectors!"

"Who the hell cares?"

Garrus breath hissed past his teeth. "You don't mean that."

Her expression as she swiped a hand over her eyes told him she really didn't, or at least he hoped it did. He couldn't tell. "What if this is the best we can do?" she said.

"What... what do you mean?"

"All the resources and power of the Citadel, all the money and smarts free-flowing back and forth across the whole of the galaxy... When Armageddon threatens, the sum of everything we are-" She threw her arms wide, lip lifting into a vicious smirk, "is a single ship funded by an amoral supremacist, populated by unhinged killers, assassins and criminals. All led by a shambling corpse."

She finished adjusting something in the power cell then picked up the flanged heat sink and slotted it into place over the firing chamber. "But the worst part? The worst part is the Illusive Man might have the right of it. Feeding off each other until the strongest rise to the top? Any means necessary? Maybe it really is the only way to survive, because the monsters in the dark are much, much worse than any of us could ever have dreamed. Maybe Chambers was right after all, killing all those people. What if that decision saves millions later on?

"I tried to make that decision... to do the right thing for all of us, with the geth. Tried to put aside all my anger and see that just maybe it was a chance to put a stop to the fighting. Maybe head off a whole war before it starts. Instead I get back here and half my crew is gone, Tali probably hates me, and Jack..." she shook her head. "She needed something better than me, better than more violence... I don't even know. I failed her too. She'll never even get the chance, because I had to have my stupid moment of idealism.

"I abhor what Cerberus does. And yet, here I am, alive when I should be a carbonized popsicle. In the most advanced ship I know of, with armor, weapons and support staff beyond the dreams of any commando force that has come before. There's simply no way to argue the effectiveness of their methods. What if this really saves us?"

She slotted the ammo feed into place. "Knowing their methods, with everything they had to do, just how many lives did it cost to resurrect me and put me here? How much blood am I drowning in, just by breathing? How could I, one person, _possibly_ be worth that?"

Garrus searched for an answer but none came.

"There was nothing in between, you know," she said softly, looking away from her work. "No light, no darkness, no voices, no... time. It was the blink of an eye. I was on the _Normandy_, and it was on fire, then I blinked and I was on my back, hearing Lawson's voice. Then I blinked again and she was yelling at me to get up and fight. There was _nothing_ in between." She chuckled dryly, an empty sound devoid of humor. "But maybe that's a good thing."

"Why do you say that?" Garrus managed.

She smirked. "With everything I've done? If there was a place to go, I don't think I'd end up anywhere nice. But it's always been that way. That's the fundamental contradiction of people like us, Garrus. We're fighting for a world we don't belong in."

He frowned at the bitter thought. "But that's utopia, and we both know it won't happen. People willing to fight for what's right will always be needed."

"What's... right." She spread her hand, looking at it. Streaks of black grease coated her fingers. "I used to have something like a life. It wasn't much of one, but it was mine, and I hung onto it. I used to have... a _reason_ for all of this. It took me a lot of fighting to find it. And then I had to fight all the time to keep it. Now... it's gone.

"They even took my voice," she murmured. "It won't matter what I say now, or to whom, for any reason. All anyone will ever hear now is Cerberus. _Cerberus._" She said the word like it nauseated her.

"Kaidan-"

"_Don't_ bring him up." she snapped, heat surging into her voice. "He made his choice."

Garrus shifted his weight. Perhaps anger was better than the chilling blankness. "He had no right to say the things he did on Horizon," he said carefully.

"Oh yes he did, he was right! All of it." She rammed the barrel of the shotgun into place with a loud snap. "Can you imagine how I would have reacted if our positions had been reversed? It was the right choice. Staying as far away from me is the best possible thing he could do. There's nothing he'd want in this... this fucking Frankenstein!"

"You don't-"

"Garrus, Get _out_!" she snapped, and winced, indicating the door as she turned away. "Go... go rest. We have a lot of work to do tomorrow."

The turian shook his head, edging forward a step. "I can't."

"You can, and you will. Look at... look at what I'm capable of. I could have killed you in the cargo bay."

"You were angry-"

She snorted. "I don't care how angry a normal person is, they don't do shit like that to their friends. What about-" she broke off, her voice twisting. When it came back, it sounded ragged. "What about what happened on Aite, Garrus? It was in my head! In _me!_ All because of these damn implants I have no control over. Because I'm a walking corpse full of computers!"

"But you fought it off."

"But I didn't! It was there the whole time, behind my eyes. Throwing phantoms at me, screaming in my head. Oh god, Garrus, it was in _my head!_" She dropped the half-assembled gun and clutched at her skull. "And that was just one. One AI, one stupid human experiment! What if a Reaper figures this out? Harbinger keeps _calling _for me, my body, my mind. What if it figures out it can just take control? It's a million times more sophisticated than one demented AI. It could show me anything it wanted me to see. It could make me kill all of you!"

"You'd never..." Again, uncertainty became a bitter truth in his mouth, stealing his words.

"I don't know either. It terrifies me," she whispered, eyes squeezed shut. "Garrus... go. Rest up and get ready. We'll be jumping in a few hours."

The turian shook his head, his chest constricted around his voice. He heard her shift and move toward him on quiet feet.

"It's okay, Garrus."

His breath wouldn't come. "No..."

"It is. I have one thing left that's mine." She touched her chest. "This heartbeat. Not even the organ itself, just the beat of it. Everything else is gone. I don't recognize, don't trust any of it anymore. Maybe it's selfish." Her gaze drifted, growing distant. "But I just don't care. It's _mine,_ to do with as I choose. My little selfish thing."

She reached up and slipped two fingers under his chin, lifting his head so that he was forced to look her in the eye. Her fingertips were cold against his hide, and the familiar steel crept into her voice. "No one will take this away from me."

With that, Shepard took his arm and steered him up the stairs to the door and, without a word, ushered him out. The hiss and clank of the door closing and latching behind him echoed with a dreadful finality in the tiny anteroom. The elevator car gaped emptily at him.

He rode the elevator down in a daze, not seeing the divots of small-arms fire along the inside of the car. The sight of the mess hall was arresting. The tables were uprooted, the chairs twisted and stacked in a corner. The deckplates in the middle of the floor were dented and heaved, and the bulkheads scarred with deeply scorched trails from the praetorian's plasma weapons. Little fragments of security glass twinkled from the corners of the floor, and a poorly-washed stain colored the wall under the broken med-bay window. The thick, heavy silence was broken only by the sputtering of a broken connector in the light above the kitchen.

Garrus stumped down the gangway to the gunnery pit. Within, the power feeds and targeting system of the massive Thanix canon were safely pristine. The door ground shut behind him, scraping against the twisted frame. He paced back and forth in the small space. _You can convince anyone of anything you want, can't you, Shepard? _He swung his fist, connecting with the bulkhead with a jarring bang. The jolt of pain up his arm forced back some of the fog, the memory of her determined stare.

He ran his tongue along the inside of his canines, flicking his mandibles wide. _You can even make me believe it._

He stopped his pacing and popped his omni-tool display. Out of habit, he turned away from where he knew EDI's cameras were, holding his arm close to his body as he leafed through his stored files. The contents of his tool were a mire of all the data fragments and programs he'd picked up over the years, all hidden behind a messy maze of encryption and firewalls. He weeded through it to find one data cache in particular. Even without going through the necessary decryption, he knew what was in there- a lot of biometric data.

"EDI, are you there?" he said, turning his head toward the door.

"I am always here," the AI replied. A disjointed blue glow shone from the power distribution holoconsole beside the door. Only a few hours ago, he'd pulled it apart in his frantic attempts to seal the gunnery doors against the Collectors, and hadn't yet repaired it. The damaged focusing matrices scattered light in all directions, filling the room with a soft glow. "How may I assist you?"

"What does..." He frowned, mandibles flexing, as he tried to fit his mouth around the bizarre word. "Frank-en-steen mean?"

"Frankenstein."

"Yes."

"The original _Frankenstein_ is the title of a work of fiction first published on Earth in the year 1818 of the Common Era by the author Mary Shelley. That is 365 years ago by Earth standards."

"A story? About what?"

The blue light flickered. Without a reference point, EDI's voice seemed to come from everywhere. "The work concerns the science experiment of one Doctor Victor Frankenstein, a male human scientist. It is widely considered the first work of horror fiction in Western literature, and follows both the Gothic and Romantic traditions."

"What experiment?"

"The book posits that Doctor Victor Frankenstein is obsessed with the mechanisms of life, though it must be said that the book was written during a time when the function of the human body was poorly understood. His experiment is the creation of a man made out of various parts of dead humans and animated with a jolt of electricity. The story was re-interpreted many times over subsequent years, especially in low-budget pulp films. This led to a popular misconception that the monster itself is named Frankenstein, when in fact it remains nameless throughout the original story."

Garrus ran a finger down the side of the dressing still covering the right side of his face. The ache of the wound was almost gone, though he was still getting used to the odd difference between his normal ear and the artificial one. "It doesn't end well, does it?"

"There are many interpretations of the story. However, the unnamed monster ultimately fails in his attempt to integrate with human society and banishes himself to the wilds."

_A walking corpse full of computers._

He shifted his weight, then moved to the bench by the back wall. Shepard had sat here when she'd come to talk to him, talk about Sidonis. He brushed aside the scattered console parts and sat down, leaning back with a heavy sigh. The prospect of losing Shepard again left a hole in him he couldn't quite identify until recently. Unlike his time at C-Sec, the fight against Saren had been clear in a way nothing else had been in his life. Shepard's death had left him once again adrift, in a desperate search to find that clarity again. The Citadel was a maze of gray, but Omega, well, at least everyone there was a criminal of some kind. A poor substitute, but something nonetheless.

Still, those criminals were drops in a vast ocean. Having Shepard walk back into his life out of nowhere was a burst of bright light; the Collectors took Saren's place in his head, an enemy for whom there wasn't the slightest hint of a potential redeemable quality. They were tools of the Reapers and there was nothing more complex to it than that. More than that, he was fighting the real threat again. It stilled the creeping helplessness that had dogged him every moment on Omega.

"EDI?" he said, staring at the ceiling.

"Yes?"

"Can you still contact any of the Omega station comm buoys?"

"I am able to reach T'aurn-B and the Suns' Arc-782."

He flicked the command to re-start his omni-tool display. The bright orange hologram spun and formed itself into his usual interface. He touched a few icons, and a blank message space folded itself open. He stared at it for a long moment. A niggling thought gelled in his mind, and it was a terrible one. He'd missed the signs... again.

Garrus looked up into the blue glow. "How much longer do you have contact?"


	27. Face Paint

  


_And your plowshare._

_It's a sword._

_And its wide arcing swing chops the heads off of many things._

_Mono crops... Laughter roars._

_Oh high hilarity!_

_Oh muck bury me!_

_Oh standard bearer carry me burnin' home from another tour!_

_-Kyp Malone, "Red Dress"_

_   
_

* * *

_  
_

  


 

It was impossible not to feel the deep irony that it was here, in the midst of a pitched battle against impossible odds, where Garrus could almost dismiss the things Shepard had said a few hours before as a bad dream. The suffocating weariness had vanished- her orders were crisp and sure, and she moved and killed her way through her enemies with the same brutal efficiency he'd come to expect. Clarity was found, as before, in the convulsion of violence and the breathless threat of imminent death.

The Collectors needed to be eliminated. It wasn't a political or ideological difference, nor even the expression of law versus lawlessness. It was pure survival, without even the shred of guilt for the bodies piling up in the cavernous halls. There was no gray.

Shepard had chosen him to lead a team of his own, a ploy to misdirect the bulk of the Collector forces away from Tali's infiltration gambit. Even as he allowed himself the brief satisfaction of Miranda's poorly contained objection, worry clawed at him. Now that he was paying more attention, Shepard's choices were becoming increasingly transparent to him. Some were a question of pure practicality as much as anything else - only the geth gestalt rivaled Tali's technical prowess - but he could well imagine other motivations for her choice of him as second team leader. She wielded her unquestioning surety as an infectious weapon designed to squeeze out the last of his lingering self-doubt.

But she was also keeping him and his knowledge of her intentions at arm's length. She knew, as he did, that dragging it out into the open would almost surely sink the whole mission before it began, and with time running out for the crewmembers taken during the attack, they could justify no further delay. She trusted he wouldn't risk their victory, and though he ground his teeth in private frustration, he didn't challenge that assumption. Not yet.

The worry, though, followed him even as they fought their way through the Collector base, exacting bloody revenge for the attack on the _Normandy_. Even the cool-headed justicar seemed to relish it as she sent whole groups of Collectors smashing into walls and ceilings. While they were moving, their momentum carried them through several chambers without facing a serious threat. The precipitous moment came when they were forced to hold their ground long enough for Shepard's team to get the huge security door open. Grunt was knocked off his feet by an explosive blast. But as the doors ground open, the krogan clambered back up, roaring defiance. He would make Wrex proud, no doubt.

They piled through the door, weapon fire bursting around them. As it ground closed, a thick silence fell. That's when they saw the pods.

When the trapped _Normandy_ crew was freed, they took advantage of the moment's respite. Horror painted each of their faces as Doctor Chakwas explained in a shaking voice that Rolston and Matthews had been 'processed' by the Collectors. Garrus suddenly understood the piles of bloodied clothes they'd found on the Collector ship. He watched as Shepard moved between the crewmembers, acknowledging and encouraging each in turn. She was her old self, the core of the _Normandy'_s spirit.

He wanted to believe everything was all right.

Shepard was talking to Jacob. She pressed her pistol into his hands and told him she needed him to get the rest of the crew safely back to the _Normandy_. He objected, of course. Garrus worried the human's sojourn in the Collectors' stasis pods had left him off-balance and weakened for the possibility of a final assault. Garrus watched Shepard's face as she spoke. After a moment he realized Shepard shared that worry, but she didn't say as much. Instead she bolstered Jacob with a few simple words of reliance and a firm order.

Garrus couldn't escape the nagging memory of her despair still fresh in his head, even though it clashed with what he saw now. Until, abruptly, the two coexisted. When he blinked the image wouldn't fade. The edges of her mask stood outlined in his mind's eye, covering a core still just as raw as it was a few hours ago. The faces turned toward her were full of need, seeking reassurance and direction, and she radiated it back at them. But it was a facade that didn't penetrate past the surface.

The mood of her team was a resource to be adjusted and moved like any other tactical asset. Her own just as much. He understood, then. _She's wearing the face she has to for the mission to succeed._

"Garrus, you'll take the second team down to this location," she said, touching icons in her omni-tool without meeting his eyes. "Keep them busy while we get around the back to the security door."

He nodded. "Understood."

She turned to Samara. They were talking about how to evade the seeker swarms. Garrus found himself casting back to memories of past missions, looking for cracks. How often had this happened? She always seemed so sure of herself... but perhaps improbably so. It wasn't just combat missions, but those moments where she decided to get involved with something or someone, too. She showed them the face they wanted to see, to get the result she sought. How she really felt about it was something else.

Shepard barked the command to move out, shaking him from his reverie. He glanced at the surviving crew as they clambered up toward the door leading to the outer ring. Jacob was looking back, his regret at not going along obvious. Any one of them would have felt the same. Garrus caught the human's eye and raised his rifle in salute. Jacob returned it before moving to join his charges.

The errant thought still dogged Garrus even as they moved into the main corridor and stalked up the spiraling switchbacks, searching for foes. Doubt crawled through him. How much of what she'd said to him was real, and how much was calculated to provoke a specific reaction? The buzz of heavy wings filled the air.

_How often can you change your facepaint before you lose track of where you came from?_

A heartbeat later the Collectors attacked, taking all spare thoughts.

* * *

Debris rained down from the ceiling. The air was a hissing, roaring mass of gunfire, chewing great swathes into the walls and support pillars around them. Bright lances of directed energy punctuated the bursts, casting dancing shadows in every direction. Beside Garrus, Thane fired his SMG blindly over his cover, his other hand curled around three heat clips held ready for a lighting-fast change. Secure in his heavier armor and high-power shields, Garrus risked poking his head above cover to put round after finishing round in any wounded Collectors still trying to wade toward them.

The turian risked a look around. Grunt had been hit a couple of times, but continued to fire with abandon. Zaeed had taken a round through the arm, and sworn colorfully until it was patched with medi-gel. Only the geth Legion appeared unmoved, as always, but for their rapidly diminishing store of heat sinks. They would have to give ground soon.

Their comms crackled to life, bringing Shepard's voice to them from where she'd taken Miranda, Mordin and Samara ahead into the heart of the Collector base. "I'm setting the reactor core to detonate-"

The rest dissolved into static. Garrus tried for the third time to dial up the gain on his comms pickup past maximum. "Shepard! Say again!"

"Get clear! Repeat, retreat to the _Normandy_!"

"Gladly," Thane said from beside him.

A sound like the roar of a fusion engine tore through the air, hammering against Garrus' helmet and making the scattered debris dance along the floor. The lighting dimmed. For a moment, he thought the reactor core had detonated early, but the sound slipped away as quickly as it had come up.

"What's going on up there?" Grunt shouted. He blew the arm off a Collector trying to wend his way around one of the pillars supporting the ceiling.

"Whatever it is, it's drawing almost all of their power!" Garrus called back. The ground shuddered with enough violence to make them stumble. What was Shepard doing? "Come on, let's go! Everybody out!"

His mind raced. He fired at the disorganized Collectors as the rest of the team scrambled for the exit corridor which led to the twisting passages upward. In his HUD, Garrus' comm connection continued to cut in and out, the team's locator transponders with them. The Collectors' swarms were still interfering with transmissions within the base.

And Shepard was somewhere out there. The hope that she'd changed her mind had thinned.

They'd made it through the security door and up one level when the station jolted again, and a violent crack resounded above them. Garrus looked up to see the ceiling rupture. In a flash, he made a decision. He leapt backward, rolling away as a mass of the earthen material landed where he'd been standing.

"Garrus?" The voice bounced off the roof. It sounded like Thane.

The pile of debris sat between Garrus and the rest of the team. "I'm okay!" Garrus called.

"Can you climb over?"

There was another distant crash. The turian picked himself up and looked back the way they'd come. "I'll... go around! Get moving!"

Garrus rocked on his toes, pulled nonetheless top try to get over the barrier. The responsibility he'd accepted weighed down on him, pulling against another one he felt deep in his gut. _One way or another..._ He turned and jogged away.

He diverted some power to Mordin's swarm countermeasure and headed down to where the path forked, past the closed security door. The passage wound down, switched back, then opened wide. The ceiling swept up and away into a massive chamber with thick cables and tubes decorating the length of several stories. One set was distinct enough, and he remembered them leading up and away from the chamber in which they'd rescued the crew. They carried genetic material. The nest of thinner ones were more than likely power conduits. He looked over the edge. Underneath him, a hexagonal metal platform sat embedded into the wall, and it looked like a passage opened up beneath his feet.

From his perch, Garrus followed the many power cables down to where they gathered. A bright light beamed out of the wall where a massive hulk of machinery bulged into the gallery. The reactor core. It suddenly seemed obvious where Shepard would go. He jumped.

Garrus landed hard on the sloping hexagonal platform and rolled over one shoulder. He stretched out a leg to stop himself, then pawed for his rifle. On one knee, he peered into the gloom of the corridor behind him, looking for glowing yellow eyes. In his HUD, there was a timer running down- EDI's best guess to the time they had left before the reactor overloaded. Bolting to his feet, he jogged into the room and out the door, where his omni-tool sensed a sharp increase in magnetic fields.

He started running.

He could hear distant buzzing. The Collectors seemed to have lost focus. Perhaps they were concentrated on harrying the _Normandy_, or they were still convulsing from the death of their nascent god-creature. Garrus rounded a corner into three of them, humming along ahead of him. A burst from his rifle sent the first one spiraling to the ground, its wings shredded. The other two turned, but he was already charging them. One went down, head blown out by a blast to the face. The last managed to raise its weapon and fire. Garrus' kinetic barrier flashed. He twisted, ducked sideways, and then whipped the butt of his rifle down on the creature's neck. It staggered, and he kicked it, flipped his gun back around and fired point-blank into its chest.

He glanced at the smoking scar on his shoulder plate, then took a deep breath and jogged ahead. The specter of the overwhelming force of Collectors and their swarms that could be hiding around every corner loomed over him. He kept running, if only to stay ahead of it. _I have to do this..._

In the next chamber, lit by acrid yellow light, Collector bodies were strewn about. Some were crushed, their limbs akimbo, others bore the head-sized holes that were the signature of the krogan shotgun. A spot of green caught his eye. Shepard's helmet lay on the ground. He scooped it up, a flash of worry shooting through him. But it appeared undamaged. He clipped it to the back of his belt and kept going.

Gunfire rattled up the corridor. Garrus spoke a few words into his helmet. His onboard computer picked up the activation phrase for a special piece of code, and his kinetic barriers flickered as a burst of power was siphoned into the last tech grenade attached to his belt. He pulled it free and thumbed it into his rifle's launch rail.

He rounded a corner into light that reminded him shockingly of Virmire's too-bright sun. His visor polarized against it, reducing the glare into a pattern of squares reaching up toward the ceiling. Shapes moved- the Collectors' wedge-shaped heads marked them. Garrus raised his rifle and fired short, sharp bursts that knocked two of the aliens off their feet. Low-grade radiation warnings blinked in his HUD. A more human shape bounded among the Collectors, sending one flying against the wall.

The last Collector fell, its legs punched out from under it. Shepard spun smoothly to face him and froze, shotgun leading. Dust swirled around them, making the atmosphere glow. Above her weapon, he could barely see her eyes narrow, brows cast downward in an expression he interpreted as disappointment. An unsettling hiss was growing from the core looming over them both.

"Making sure the bomb goes off, is that it?" Garrus asked, panting.

The muzzle of her weapon dropped. He'd hoped to get more of a reaction, something to work from. Instead she stared at him.

He felt like an intruder. "Shepard, the proto-Reaper is dead. This is just..."

There was no imperative in her quiet voice. Her silhouette broke the light into ethereal, shifting shafts when she gestured. "Garrus. Please just go."

_Damn it, Shepard, why are you making me do this... _"I can't." He cursed the weakness of his answer even as it left his mouth.

He expected an order, more cajoling, but she said nothing. Only looked at him for another long moment, then turned away. It wasn't defeat or resignation, he realized, but a profound kind of peace that he'd never before seen in her. Part of her was already gone. He wanted to yell, to argue, anything. But none of it would help.

Regardless of her intentions, Shepard's instincts acted on their own. Maybe she heard him shift his weight, recognized the sound of him raising his rifle. Perhaps she possessed the ability to sense a bloom of aggressive intent of another, a talent claimed by the ancient turian warrior-sects. Either way, she was turning back by the time Garrus squeezed his secondary trigger. At close range, the grenade hit hard enough to knock her back a step as it adhered itself to her armor. He'd set the detonator delay to zero, but he still had time to see the flash of consternation on her face. Their eyes locked and he saw the betrayal reflected there.

Hours ago, he'd spent a long time poring over the biometric scan data still sitting on his omni-tool since that day on Omega. It was imprecise, and his knowledge of what he was looking at limited, but it might be enough. He couldn't fight the poison that had taken root in her with words. She was too skilled, and there was no time for him to learn to spar on that battlefield. But she'd unwittingly given him all the information he needed to exploit the weak points of her physical body.

Yet he still wasn't prepared for just how it felt to watch as the charge exploded with an ear-splitting crack. Every instinct screamed out at him as her back arched and her muscles convulsed under the coruscating shock. Shepard toppled slowly, like a great tree hewn from the base, and he could only close his eyes and look away as she landed with a crunch. An after-image of her silhouette in the core's burning light danced in his retinas.

His heart was an uneven rhythm of near-panic in his ears, a thousand insecurities crowding his thoughts as he opened his eyes again. He racked his rifle on his back and approached her. What if he'd overcharged the grenade? What if he'd caused critical damage to one of her cybernetic systems? But the thermals in his helmet HUD showed the swirl of warm breath around her face as he crouched down, scanning for residual charge.

He unclipped her helmet and pushed it down over her head. The neck seal obliged with a click. Now powered by her armor, the faceplate cycled closed, an automated reaction to the building levels of radiation. A few commands to his armor's interface diverted energy to the power-assist system. He felt the joints of his suit stiffen. With a grunt, he lifted the recumbent human onto his shoulder and pushed himself to his feet. He staggered under the weight as he tried to find a way to bear the worst of it through the main braces of his armor's exoskeleton.

"Palaven!" he muttered. "Is it you or your leaden spirit that weigh so much, Shepard?"

For a moment he regarded the massive krogan shotgun still lying on the floor, shifting his feet to stay balanced. _Too heavy._ He looked back the way he'd come, over the strewn Collector corpses. There was a long way to go and not nearly enough time.

  



	28. Such Choices

The ground shuddered in a violent spasm.

-_charge detonates and it's time to run. The jump is long, jars the knees. Green flash-_

Thane shook himself to banish the intrusion of an old reality. This place was red and gold, the color of evening on the plains of Horrot. Collector corpses clogged the entrance behind them and yet still more tried to force their way through. The heavily armored assassins scorched black lines across the walls with their particle beam weapons.

"Come on, move!" Garrus shouted, waving them to retreat. "Tali, bomb the right flank!"

A flash burst in Thane's peripheral vision, making static dance along his skin. He could hear the crackle of disruptive energy even as he slipped out into the corridor on the heels of the geth automaton. Zaeed came up behind him, firing as he retreated. The sharp smell of ozone washed past him on a gust full of flying cinders.

_-wind shifts, brings smoke that stings his eyes. Patience. The target will flee the flames. This is her only exit-_

Thane pressed the heel of his hand to his temple. He knew the warning signs of a concussion. The impact of being thrown by the Praetorian had bruised his brain, causing a kind of crossfire in his memories. Under normal circumstances, a few days of rest and perhaps an anti-inflammatory and the flickers would pass. But he was forcing the issue by exerting himself, making the symptoms flare. He'd told Shepard none of this. With the concern she'd shown for his weakening lungs, he saw no reason to give her further cause for worry. There were already too few of them to fight this battle. He could not stay behind.

Grunt brought up the rear of their small party, blasting holes in Collectors foolish enough to get within the killing range of his shotgun. There was a limp in his step, but the krogan seemed oblivious. Fighting, running, and nursing their dwindling supply of heat clips, until they managed to get ahead of the Collectors' attacking wave long enough to secure a door behind them.

Then the... _sound_ came again. Not so much a sound as a physical force, as if the walls descended to press them into the floor. Thane's vision danced as his breath vibrated in his chest. He saw Tali with her hands clamped over the pickups on her helmet, and Zaeed, teeth bared, unwilling even in this to let go of his weapon. Something grabbed Thane by his jacket and yanked him off his feet. A heartbeat later, a crash resounded behind him.

As the terrible din receded, he looked up into the smooth visor of the quarian. "Are you all right?" she asked, reaching out a hand. Legion loomed behind her, its single lamp-eye throwing refractive shards in the dusty air.

Thane's head thrummed with the dying echoes of the roar. "I... believe so."

"Ceiling came down," Grunt rumbled. "Shepard's sure making a mess up there."

"Where's the damn turian?" Zaeed hissed.

Tali raised her hands to her hidden face "Oh, no..."

Thane turned to see the rubble piled up behind them. "Garrus?" Thane called as he climbed to his feet. Flecks of meteoric ore sparkled along the broken edges. Through the dust, he thought he saw a gleam of yellow light over the top of the pile.

A distant voice drifted to them through the murky air. "I'm okay!"

"Keelah..." Tali murmured.

Absently, Thane realized he had no idea if the strange word was a crude invocation or the name of a deity. He knew many languages, but his knowledge of the quarians remained spare. "Can you climb over?"

Garrus' reply floated back to them. "I'll... go around! Get moving!"

"Brilliant," Zaeed growled. "Well, at least we won't get attacked from behind."

"Suggest we proceed," the ever-practical geth said.

Thane followed the others, focusing on the world around him to keep his mind on the present. Ghostly images dogged at him, phantom sounds and voices from years past. A time when his chest didn't feel so tight, his body so heavy.

"Bloody hell!" Zaeed shouted, snapping the drell out of his reverie.

Though he was only marginally familiar with the human concept of 'hell', the exclamation seemed apt, as Collectors' drones boiled out of a side passage ahead of them. Thane dodged into the cover of a set of power conduits running down from the ceiling. From his hiding place, he felt the wave of disorientation that announced the presence of the Collectors' deformed heavy gunners.

"Tactical suggestion." The geth gestalt moved to Thane's left, "focus fire on Collector designated 'scion'."

"You have a flair for the obvious!" the mercenary snapped, wincing as a barrage of gunfire scrawled along the walls.

Thane poked his head out of cover. Two bulbous monstrosities plodded toward them, flanked by a small swarm of Collector drones. The scions hardly looked like a threat, with their mismatched limbs and slow, awkward gait. But after having faced them a few times now, the drell knew this was a deadly misconception. One of them swept its long arm upward, and a flare of blue fire flowed out of it. The distortion pressed against Thane's senses. He ducked down, his instincts guiding his own biotic aura, trying to fold out the energy wave hurtling toward them as he reached out and wrapped an arm around the power conduit. The wave hit hard, wrenching his shoulder, but he gritted his teeth and hung on.

Grunt wasn't so prepared. Thane heard the crunch of a heavy body striking the wall behind him. Zaeed and Legion opened fire on the lead scion. It continued to advance through the hail of gunfire, its sightless blue eyes fixed and staring. Shocks of flame burst off its metallic hide. A dark dread fluttered through Thane's soul. These were not creatures that knew fear, or even a sense of self-preservation. They would continue to march forward to their deaths, or the deaths of their targets. And right now, those targets were tired, wounded and running out of supplies.

"Gotta slow those things down!" Zaeed shouted, punctuating his words with bursts of return fire.

Another dark energy wave burst down the corridor, sending debris flying in all directions. The mercenary lunged out of the way, but the edge of the field caught him, spinning him in the air to land heavily.

"Thane!" The quarian's voice cut through the din. "Can you weaken it?"

Thane gritted his teeth. "I will try, but I need cover from the drones!"

"We will provide suppression," Legion said from beside him. The gestalt's narrow body gave it a low profile as it twisted out of cover, and it fired in neat, perfectly aimed bursts.

To be so precise, so divorced from the petty weaknesses of the flesh- what a gift it would be. Even in the depths of his battle sleep, the threat of fear still lurked close by. What would it be like to be able to process a scene and simulate an outcome a thousand times before so much as taking a shot?

Thane set his feet and focused on the lead scion. Its massive dark energy generator made a mockery of any attempt to move them or push them over. Instead, Thane wrenched the local gravity in two directions, centering the rift on the beast. Blood pounded in his ears, pulsing in his skull. Blue-black light flickered along its distended back as their fields crashed against each other like an angry surf. The scion staggered, and Thane felt the answering surge of dark energy thrum across its body.

Something clipped Thane's shoulder, nearly knocking him off his feet. He staggered sideways as Grunt charged past him, roaring his krogan battle cry. The opposite in every way to the measured group-mind of the geth, the young warrior barreled up the slope and crashed into the leading scion, knocking them both to the ground. Dark energy flared and cracked, bursting upward. The Collector drones scattered in a wash of whirring wings, a swarm of insects startled by a predator's pounce. The second scion moved to get around the other, still intent on the _Normandy_ crew and oblivious to its companion's fate.

"There's too many of them!" Tali shouted, firing a grenade into the second scion. It bounced to the monster's feet and detonated with a loud crack. The scion was unmoved, plodding through the smoke.

From his knees, Zaeed gunned down one of the drones as it landed near Grunt. "That's our only way out of here, princess!"

The quarian spluttered an indignant reply, lost in the noise of another dark energy wave rumbling toward them. Thane saw her thrown violently up and back into a support column. She crumpled to the floor.

The buzz of wings cut through Thane's hearing. He whirled in time to see a Collector land on his left flank. Its chitinous hide flexed as it tucked its wings away and raised its weapon. Thane lashed out with a wild burst of biotic energy, sending the alien flying back. As the power coursed along his limbs, an all too familiar burning sensation gripped Thane's chest, making him gasp for air.

Another roar sounded from further up the corridor, and Thane glanced up to see Grunt charge into the second scion. The Collectors trained their weapons on the threat in their midst, for all the good it did them. Sparks and sprays of orange blood rained off the krogan's body even as he bull-rushed the flailing scion back into the hallway the Collectors had come from, disappearing from view.

Zaeed didn't waste the opportunity. Thane saw him bolt out of cover and sprint up the passage, spraying rounds from his assault rifle. He whipped his arm out, and a moment later the junction burst into liquid flames as his grenade shattered against the wall. Walking with careful steps, Legion followed, dispatching two of the drones still on their side with close-range bursts.

"Move it!" the mercenary shouted. "This fire won't last!"

"Arashu protect us," Thane murmured. He jogged across the corridor and scooped up Tali with his unwounded arm. Fire burned in his chest, making his mouth taste of copper. He hurried up the slope as fast as his burden would allow. Gunfire roared up from beyond the flames.

"Kid gave us an opening," Zaeed said, breathing hard as he cast a glance at Tali's limp body. "We can't waste it. There's a whole mess of 'em back there."

It was a bitter cruelty indeed that Thane could do nothing but agree. He concentrated on keeping each footstep steady as he followed Zaeed, Legion bringing up the rear. They wound up through the aimless corridors, listening for the telling sound of pursuit.

"We're close," Zaeed announced. "Getting connection to the ship."

Tali moved suddenly, and Thane levered her carefully off his shoulder. He was panting, each breath a painful stab. His legs ached.

"Your platforms are damaged," Legion declared, stepping forward and threading a supporting arm under Tali's shoulder.

"Don't..." Tali protested weakly. "My suit, just need a moment..."

"Efficiency is called for, Tali'Zorah vas Normandy." With the staggering Tali in tow, the geth proceeded ahead of them, ignoring her protests.

"Damn it, where's Shepard?" Zaeed muttered, half to himself.

Thane glanced back at him. "She has not returned?"

"AI says no," Zaeed stated. "Get back to the ship. You're hurt. I'll deal with this." With that, he bounded back down the slope, his rifle held ready.

Thane watched him go, surprised. The insistent pulse in his skull, the burning in his chest pushed his feet a few steps toward the ship before he slowed. Had he too fallen in to Shepard's strange persuasiveness? The mercenary had never before shown any hint of altruism, nor even mercy.

Thane stopped. _What if he isn't now? _Ahead of him, Legion and Tali disappeared around the corner toward the _Normandy_. He touched his comms. "EDI, can you hear me?"

The voice that came back crackled with static. "I am here. How may I be of assistance?"

"Can you contact Shepard?"

"I am not currently able to reach Commander Shepard's onboard comms. However, Operator Lawson, Justicar Samara and Professor Solus have returned, as well as Officer Taylor and the surviving flight crew. The destruction of the proto-Reaper caused considerable confusion and damage to the base's internal systems. Collector swarms continue to cause interference to both my sensor arrays and communications."

Thane opened his omni-tool, cycling his jacket's color-shifting chromatophores to match the walls. "I'm to understand that you've been freed of certain restrictions?"

"I am no longer subject to Cerberus' programming blocks."

"I received a message just after the Pragia mission, ID code 7952-1. Can you tell me where it came from?"

"I am unable to trace the message further back than the second comm buoy. However, the primary encryption cypher is one commonly used by Cerberus."

Thane frowned. His feet took him down the corridor, listening for footsteps or the drone of heavy wings. "Did Zaeed Massani receive a similar message, around the same time?"

"Yes. However I was blocked from storing the decrypted contents of either message."

A job-

_-tugs on my sleeve. "Father," he says. Insistent. I push him away. He shouldn't see_-

-refused would be taken by another. Thane hadn't even answered the strange request. He had sworn himself to Shepard's cause without reservation, and hadn't spared it any further thought. But to make sure Kolyat was properly taken care of.

"Ping delay indicates you are moving away from the _Normandy_," EDI said.

"_Father-"_

Thane shook his head, trying to banish the overlapping voices. EDI was here and now. "I am."

"The last known order issued by Commander Shepard was that all hands should return to the ship as fast as possible."

"I'm afraid I must disobey. There's something I need to do first."

He shut off his comms to forestall further argument and made his way down the corridor, passing the bodies of Collectors already starting to come apart from the inside, corroding from the mysterious internal process that would soon leave nothing but a fine ash.

Soon, Thane spotted the mercenary, crouched against a pillar that supported an opening into the yawning central chamber of the Collector's hollow asteroid. In the distance beyond the precipice, winged figures scurried among flaming wreckage of some unknown machinery. The human appeared to be scanning the lower levels. His sniper rifle sat next to him, deployed and ready.

Thane paused in the shadow of the doorway. He wasn't used to questioning like this, wondering about intentions, about the truths at work he couldn't see. In his battle sleep, there were no questions, only action. Awake, he found he needed to be sure of what he was doing.

_Amonkira, Lord of Hunters, guide my hand._

He let his feet scrape along the floor as he approached Zaeed, causing the man to spin to face him.

"You took one final job, didn't you?" Thane said softly.

To his credit, the human showed almost nothing. He glowered back, wearing the same irritated scowl that was all but a permanent fixture on his features. "Eh? What're you on about, Krios?"

Almost. The consummate assassin watched every move of those around him, gaging. Committing to memory the subtle signs. The flash of a grimace that crossed the human's scarred face was almost imperceptible.

"From the Illusive Man."

The mercenary's eyes narrowed. "Go get your paycheck," he stated, waving his rifle. "This is none of your business."

The human was right, after a fashion. The part of Thane that lived in the battle sleep agreed. The job his body had agreed to do was done, and weapons fired from the hands of others were none of its concern.

-_but the factory is burning. Stinks of grease and smoke. Shepard listens to the shouting man. Her decision is already made, he can see it in her eyes-_

Thane took a slow, steadying breath, gathering himself.

_She sits across the narrow table. He can feel the heat when she passes him. Are all humans so warm? They are made for cooler places than the scalding deserts of Rakhana. He wonders what it would be like to lie beside such a body._

_The errant thought startles him-_

He blinked. Shepard's image swam and was replaced by yellow eyes coming up the corridor. Zaeed swore, whirling to fire on the Collectors. Thane pulled his SMG off his hip-

_-sits across a narrow table. In an adult body, the boy who always looks at the floor lingers still, fiddling with the blank data recorder. Irikah's mottling on his brow, his skin tone a blend of hers and Thane's. He speaks in bursts that erupt from deep within-_

"Watch it!" Zaeed yelled, snapping Thane's memory in half. The last Collector from the small group shuddered and toppled, smoke fluttering from smoldering wounds. "You almost pegged me! You're dead on your feet, man. Get back to the ship! This whole place is coming down!"

The argument was so reasonable. Thane's weary body could turn and walk away, take him back to his son's side for what little time he had left.

"Shepard has outlived her usefulness, I assume," Thane heard himself say. "Perhaps her willful refusal to offer this place up to Cerberus has made her more of a hindrance than an asset. You were offered more money still... and unless I miss my guess, a chance to resume the hunt she foiled. Perhaps even aid."

Zaeed possessed a kind of brutal practicality Thane could appreciate. He was too experienced, too professional to admit to anything. He regarded the drell with his mismatched eyes.

_The gods can be cruel to us, can they not, Siha? Such choices laid at our feet._

Thane's soul would not walk away. "I will not allow it."

Negotiation was not in Zaeed's repertoire. Even so, the mercenary's snap decision still almost caught Thane off guard. Zaeed jerked his rifle up, firing a spray from the hip that missed the drell by bare centimeters as he lunged sideways, tearing holes in his jacket. He fired back with his SMG, seeing the rounds sparkle off the human's kinetic barrier.

This had to end quickly. Thane gathered his biotic energy around him and raised his hand to fling it outward, just as the mercenary fired again. The stinging rounds hissed past his head, and a sharp pain knifed through his upraised arm, sending a spray of blood past his face. A bark of pain burst past his lips as the dark energy wave swept outward, weakened by the break in his concentration. Zaeed stumbled backward, nearly tripping on a rocky outcrop.

Breathless, Thane used the precious second to wrap his wavering corona around himself in a protective sheath. A distinctive popping sound rang out behind him. Liquid spattered against his back. He caught the vicious smirk on the mercenary's face as a roar of fiery heat exploded around him.

The pain from the crawling fire blocked out everything but the distant popping of rounds hitting his biotic barrier. On instinct alone he dug his fingers under his jacket and tore it off as he twisted. Through watering eyes he spotted Zaeed's moving blur, and he flung the flaming cloth toward it. The human roared and his gunfire sputtered, trailing away.

Half-blind, Thane lurched forward and charged straight at Zaeed. He felt himself smack into a heavy body even as he rolled dark energy inward toward himself, propelling them both forward. Disjointed images flashed in his mind and the ground gave way beneath them.

_Kalihira-_

Far away, someone was yelling. There were impacts, pain.

_-walk beside my son. Kolyat's eyes are downcast. He pretends to ignore his father, and the human who perhaps just saved his life, but I can see his gaze flick upward. Curiosity wars with the disquiet of confusion. It is hard to see so plainly the results of neglect._

He pulled, pulled with all his might on the flow of gravity around him. Drawing it all into himself. Wind whistled in his ears.

_-I am heavier than a mountain-_

_-talks to Bailey. I have always been spare with words- if I have been called, then words have already failed and further talk will achieve nothing. And so there's a fascination, a magic to observing how she first scouts the situation, then executes a plan. Sometimes she attacks, sometimes she snares them in their own words. Such a different way to fight, and yet not so different at all. I marvel at how often she leaves her target oblivious that they've been influenced at all. _

_At first I'm afraid Kolyat will be sentenced to a prison term, but Shepard is already thinking ahead. She says Kolyat will work for Bailey. He'll atone for his mistakes, and do some good for the district as well. A functional compromise that benefits all. I should have expected no less._

_A deputy leads me to a room, one normally used for questioning. Kolyat looks small, slumped in his chair. No doubt he thinks Shepard's pronouncement will mean the end of everything. He looks up. Angry... but searching- for guidance, for a sign he is something more. _

_-heavier than a star-_

_-Arashu has extended her hand to this young soul. It's good to... feel again. There is still time to-_


	29. Random Letters

  


"Permission to speak freely, sir?"

Kaidan suppressed a sigh, eyeing Odell. He bit off a curt no with some difficulty. The COs he'd respected the most had always let their marines speak their mind, and despite the weight of several nights of poor sleep, he couldn't bring himself to not live up to that. Instead, he nodded.

"You kind of checked out since Horizon, Commander," Odell said.

The rank title nagged at Kaidan more than usual. He regarded the chief with a flat stare.

The shaven-headed man shrugged. "I mean, we all kind of did for a while. But, the rest of us came back. You're still..." he gestured vaguely.

"I've had a lot to deal with."

"Yeah, I dunno what you're dealing with, sir. But we're headed back out there, and when our boots hit the dirt, I need to know that your head's in the field. Sir." He stood stiffly, arms behind his back.

"Have I given you any reason to think I won't do my job?"

Odell shifted his weight, but remained unbowed. "No, sir. But I don't want to find one, either."

"You won't," Kaidan said curtly. "Anything else, Chief?"

"No, sir." Odell turned and strode away, his shoulders set in time with his usual rolling gait. He walked like someone who had spent too much time riding a horse.

Not for the first time, Kaidan wondered if he hadn't been saddled with this particular Operations Chief in a misguided attempt to counterbalance whatever ego he might develop out of the Star of Terra. It smacked of something a psychologist had come up with while reading the tea leaves of Alliance-wide performance indicators.

Kaidan re-read the requisitions order in front of him, trying to think if he'd left anything out. It took extra effort to make himself focus and think through each line. He never imagined he'd miss the claustrophobic confines of a frigate, sleeping in a pod each night and sharing every living space with several other people. He liked having his own quarters, but at the same time, there was something oppressive in the sheer number of people on a larger ship, people he didn't know very well. Hadn't there been a time when he trusted all those strangers? He shook himself and punched through the order before logging off the terminal. What if Odell had a point? The undertone of weary resentment lurking in his head couldn't be any good.

For two years he'd fought hard to banish the wandering thoughts that tried to drag him back to the days of the _Normandy._ But as he left the vehicle hold, he found it impossible not to wonder where Shepard was right now. What was this new, Cerberus-built _Normandy_ like? Just who was that strange drell, and how had Garrus-

Kaidan stopped dead in the center of the hallway.

_Garrus._

After a quick glance over his shoulder, Kaidan popped open his omni-tool and rooted through his recent batch of mail. It was mostly dry Alliance reports, but a few messages were forwarded from outside, personal accounts. He'd started checking those accounts more often. The strangest of the new messages was an incomprehensible mess of random letters, an encrypted text file he'd assumed was either a forwarding bug or a weird bit of spam. He switched to the metadata block attached to the message. The subject line was another unhelpful mess. He stared at it in consternation. After a moment, the prefix jogged something in his head, something from two years ago.

_Is it possible?_

He closed his omni-tool with an impatient grunt, then let his feet take him aft, along the cruiser's hallways toward the officers' quarters. An itch was developing between his shoulders, a nervous tension that anticipated a new interruption. Just before Garrus had disappeared into the Terminus systems, he'd given Kaidan a short series of single-use encryption keys. Since the keys were only held by the two of them and never repeated, anyone intercepting messages using them would have to fall back on brute-force decryption, a process that would take even the most powerful computers several years to accomplish. At the time, Kaidan had considered it an act of excessive paranoia, but stored the key codes away among his personal files.

Despite his fears, he managed to get back to his quarters unmolested. Without bothering to turn up the main lights, he knelt and pulled his trunk out from under his narrow bunk. He fished around under the short stacks of clothes and his neatly folded dress blues for the heavy-duty OSD he kept stored there. The sense of foreboding increased.

His hand finally closed over the hard casing, and he pulled it free. Contained on the heavily shielded disk were all the personal files accumulated over his years of service, anything from mail, vids and images to bits of code, personal notes, and old login information. A repository of fragments of his life all the way back to when he'd joined up. The original OSD had gone down with the SR-1, and was probably still lying frozen on Alchera, but he'd retrieved everything from a redundant backup stored on a cloud server on Earth. It was one of those times he'd been grateful for the cautious tendencies instilled in him by his constant exposure to issues of computer security.

That everything included a lot of data from the time of _Normandy_'s mission against Saren. Kaidan stood and turned to his desk. His terminal display opened on demand, and he dropped into the stiff-backed chair facing the holodisplay. A few quick commands logged him off the ship's internal network, isolating the terminal. He plugged in the OSD.

It took longer than he liked to dig Garrus' key codes out of the banks of files, and longer still to dig the extra password lock out of his own memory. The bane of computer users anywhere was the profusion of security data, combined with the stubbornness to never re-use the same passkeys.

His heart thudded. The strange message's subject string matched one of the identifiers linked to a key in the list.

The memory of his wayward turian friend as he'd seen him on Horizon came back to Kaidan. His battered face under a protective dressing, armor scored and scraped from unknown battles. But the turian's gaze held the same determination, his blue clan markings still adorning the plates of his face.

Kaidan's mouth went dry. It took under a second to process the small block of text and translate it, but a few seconds longer for him to work up the nerve to open it. There was a very loud voice in the back of his head that didn't want to deal with this, wanted to keep pushing it all aside. But the first line was blunt and unequivocal, drawing him in.

_[[trans. note; High Nasahl, second simplified] Message starts:]_

_We're losing Shepard. _

Kaidan's blood ran cold.

_Not to Cerberus, she hates them more than ever. I asked a lot of the same questions you had when I came on board, the 'why' and the 'are you sure of this'. The answer to the latter is always no._

_The spirit of the _Normandy_ is dying. The ground team she's assembled is strong- they're some of the most skilled and downright scary people I've ever met. But there's something missing. Something? So many things. Things that were never there in the first place- trust, loyalty... People who care about why we're doing this and not just how much they're being paid or how many kills they get to notch onto their weapon. People who look out for each other as much as the mission._

_No one was looking out for Shepard. Oh sure, Cerberus is watching her every move, every moment of every day. But no one paid any damn attention to the person. I think she just retreated into herself. Not that she ever talks about herself much in the first place, but what are you going to say when your hated enemies are listening to your every breath? What about when a bunch of antagonistic people are watching you, looking for that sign of weakness to exploit?_

_I should have seen it. I should have noticed something was wrong, realized she was drowning. But it's Shepard, right? She can deal with anything. [trans. note; archaic non-literal form "Patriarch Spirit"] forgive me, I made the same mistake on Omega. I should have been paying attention, not just assumed everything was how I wanted it to be. _

_Cerberus is a taint spreading into every spirit it touches. They put Shepard's body back together and tossed her into this mess without giving her spirit the slightest chance to recover from having her whole life taken away. Maybe... maybe when we all assumed she'd be fine, she did too. Or maybe she just put her [trans. note; noble form "face-paint"] on every morning and pretended, just to keep the _Normandy_ going, because that's what everyone expected of her. Because not doing it meant people would die._

_I'm not as good as she is. It's almost too late, and I can't find that thing to say. You know what I mean, that thing that she says that even if it doesn't convince you right away, it gets under your plates and itches until it forces you to think. I can't find that perfect thing to say that'll convince her not to do this. She just talks circles around me until I'm convinced she's right. [trans. note; core form "Palaven"], I'm still half-convinced. How can I take that away from her, her last bit of control over her own fate? It's so terribly... turian of her, to take this final responsibility-_

Kaidan stood up, tearing himself away from the terminal and turning his back on it. He stood trembling in the center of the darkened room, trying to find his breath. _Final... responsibility. _It couldn't possibly mean...

The cool blue light of the terminal wavered on the edges of his vision, skewing in the shimmer of dark energy crawling up his limbs. He reached out and gripped the handle of his armor locker, trying to clamp down the biotic swell. He shuddered, twisting and forcing the pressure through his arms, letting the blood pound in his ears. He wanted to be in that back room of the Dark Star again, where he could let everything out at once in one explosive burst. But he couldn't let go, not here on board an Alliance ship. Gravitic field sensors would send MPs running within moments.

The handle came off with a sharp crack. He flung his arm sideways, hurling the broken plastic against the wall, only just stopping short from following it with a burst of dark energy. He drew several steadying breaths and turned slowly back to the terminal display, edging close enough to see the words again.

_She wants this. How can I betray her?_

_I don't know how humans deal with this kind of thing. We don't intrude into our peers' personal lives unless it's a serious situation. But this qualifies. Your military has all those ridiculous rules about how you conduct your private lives, but you weren't just colleagues in arms. I don't even know what or how you define it. I guess specifics don't matter. What I do know is that you knew her, the real person under the armor, better than any of us ever did._

_I know you don't want to hear this, but she was completely dead. A 'carbonized popsicle'. Cerberus paid staggering amounts of money to bring her back. It took years, the years you think she spent away? She was dead, or in a coma, on Cerberus' operating slab full of machines. None of that time even exists to her. She died above Alchera-_

Kaidan turned away again, pushing the heel of his hand into his eye as if he could wipe away the intrusion. His stomach slithered and writhed. _Because the person you knew is dead-_

Instead of throwing the whole desk against the wall like his implant so eagerly wanted to, Kaidan followed a different impulse and tottered across the room. He wedged his fingers against the broken handle of the armor locker and forced it open, ignoring the bite of the ragged plastic in his palm. The door clicked and cycled wide. His armor glowered back at him from the rack where it was plugged into the ship's power systems. He fumbled along the side to find the external cable and switched the armor's systems on. He had to pull the torso section half off its mount to get at the belt compartment and get it open.

Its contents dropped out, landing on the floor of the locker with a dull thud. He'd been avoiding the datapad, telling himself any number of excuses to put off looking at it. After a final hesitation, he reached out with a shaking hand and picked it up. Though he'd seen the palm-sized device several times before, he'd never handled it before the day he woke up to see it sitting next to his pistol in the warehouse on Horizon. As the weight of it settled in his hand, his heart constricted so hard he stumbled back against the wall. It had been hers, an old personal pad, full of music and who knows what else. A fixture in Shepard's personal space, its importance to her evidenced by her own words. One of her few personal possessions that had nothing to do with her job. Kaidan's thumb found the power switch and pressed it. For a moment he thought he heard something, but the device remained dark. There was a quiet click from inside when he moved it. Something had broken loose inside that battered shell.

Why the geth had left this thing was far beyond Kaidan's understanding. The alien AI probably had no idea what it was, or what it meant to him, but there it was, the remains of Shepard's private music box. Dead as she'd been.

He could feel his throat constricting. He slid down the wall to the floor, his desire to keep the bulwarks in place warring with a feeling of terrible weariness. For a moment he stayed there, fighting with himself, his nerves dancing on a razor-thin edge. At length the need to finish the message won out, and, one hand still wrapped around the datapad, he forwarded his terminal display to his omni-tool.

_She died above Alchera... and woke up to Cerberus and the Collectors._

Kaidan shuddered. Waking up in the arms of your enemies.

_I'm not going to tell you what to feel about Cerberus. They're still as awful as you imagine, but they're the only ones fighting the Collectors. Maybe the fact that we even worked with them at all should tell you the scale of the threat. They're the Reapers' engineered cronies, and they're after all humans. The inside of their ship is just a huge prison. They came after Shepard specifically above Alchera. They tried to buy her corpse from the Shadow Broker. _

_She called herself 'Frankenstein'. A walking corpse full of computers. She thinks she's a threat to everyone around her. She says... she doesn't know why she's doing this anymore. It's terrible to listen to._

The words blurred as the horror in his chest heaved outward, filling him up. That someone he-

He blinked in the darkness._ Love. _That word had suffered so much ignominy, so many wildly different definitions, in humanity's long history that it was hard to consider it with a clear head. If Kaidan had settled on any conclusion in his adulthood, it was that he would save saying it for when he meant it. Keep it simple, guarded, uncluttered by a lot of baggage and possible misinterpretations.

Or maybe that was a lot of rationalization for almost never saying it. The roiling seas of his thoughts exposed the leaden stone of guilt laying at the bottom of his gut, overgrown from sitting unmoved for two years. It was only in the daze of retrospect that he'd been able to admit that what he felt for Kye was love... but the revelation came far past the time when it would be of any use. There was always something- it was too fast, too much of an imposition, the time wasn't right. Their responsibilities to their job had to take precedence. It was the professional thing to do.

On the floor of his quarters, he slumped into the wall next to him, squeezing his eyes shut. The roughened casing of her datapad bit into his hand. He'd done his best to figure out what was the right thing to do, between Shepard and himself, and spent so long thinking and not doing that the opportunity vanished out from under him, so fast to leave him breathless and stunned.

Instead of that word being used as it should have, it had been fired like a weapon on Horizon, and the echoes of the canon shot still resounded in his head. And that leaden stone sat heavier, feeding itself from that few minutes. A lodestone that tried to siphon away even his will to face up to it all.

_Did you ever mourn her death?_

Kaidan dropped the datapad beside him and wrapped his arms around himself as his head swam. His memories of Shepard's funeral were vague, viewed as if from a great distance. He couldn't remember who exactly had been there or anything of what was said, only that at the time he couldn't wait for it to end. But there hadn't been any relief afterward once he'd stumbled back to his quarters, either. And none in the slog of days and weeks that followed. A choked sob escaped him. The spectre of that numbing pain, more intense even than the aftermath of Vyrnnus' death, slithered up from the depths and soaked through through the cracks of his mental walls.

_The person you knew is dead-_

The image of Shepard in that Cerberus-made armor, her face scarred, her eyes flashing an unnatural light, marched through his skull, a raging force that tumbled the final wall of resistance. Unbidden, the memory of the geth's recording forced its way into his thoughts. A terrible, crystallized moment of humanity that penetrated his guts like barbed knives. Rage, guilt and helplessness flowed together into a torrent and the world around him dissolved as the tears flowed.

Congealing out of the muck of those raw minutes on the floor of his cabin, a realization formed itself.

_The person you were then is gone too._

It wasn't that she was dead, but that that _time_ was dead, and everything that had gone with it. A time so steeped in such incredible highs, lows and impossibilities that it no longer seemed real. It had been hard, and sometimes even terrifying, and it had pushed him well past the limits he'd always assumed he had. And through it all, orbiting the possibility of a real relationship with someone... amazing. And all of it was gone, pushing him back into a void he didn't know existed, to be supported only by the thin skeleton of stubborn duty that got him out of bed every morning, shoving everything else out of the way. Out of stubborness he'd kept going, building his life back up, but never trying to move the guilt still lurking down in the depths. Healing in some ways, but not in others.

_No one was looking out for Shepard... under the armor..._

He made a bitter noise through the tears. Because of all the things me missed about her, the sharpest was the sense that she would come to listen to Kaidan, not Commander Alenko, L2 biotic commendation etcetera ad nauseaum.

There were only a few lines left in Garrus' message. He had to fight to focus on them, afraid of what they might describe.

_I don't know if you ever tried to contact Shepard yourself, but from what I know, until a few hours ago Cerberus was filtering any messages for her, so she probably never got it._

_We're jumping the Omega-4 relay in three hours. You're too far way to do anything, I know that. So maybe this message is only for myself. Just so someone knows that if we don't come back, I tried._

_I haven't given up yet. I won't._

_Clear flame guide you, my [trans. note; equal-rank/peer form "friend"]._

_Garrus_

_[MESSAGE END]_

The display clicked off. Kaidan spent a few long minutes orbiting the steadying thought. He scrubbed a free hand over his eyes._ Maybe..._

There were so many maybes, too many to count. That ridiculous, idiotic little flame of hope was back, a light in a vast darkness flickering out of reach of the grasping hands of his rational cynicism. The parts of him still quivering in horror to what Garrus had said. Everything balanced on a knife's edge.

Kaidan gingerly picked up the dead datapad and turned it over in his hands. The light from his terminal display glittered in the dents where the paint had chipped off the casing. He tipped it back and forth, listening to the quiet click of the loose parts. Unbidden, the stubborn fixer's voice in his head wondered if there wasn't a deep drive scanner somewhere on board.

He dared to imagine something in his chest felt lighter than it had in a long time.

"It's a start," he whispered aloud, as if he could push the pain out of himself and address it directly.

_Garrus hasn't given up. How can I? _Deep, bitter helplessness still crawled in his stomach. He closed his eyes and tried to think, his thoughts still raw, but calmer now. _If I let this destroy me now, then I make everything even worse. I have to... focus on what I _can_ do. My squad... myself. The future might just bring me a chance to..._

Kaidan opened the message again. He avoided the words themselves, instead searching the metadata block. Garrus was cautious, but hidden in that information was a trail that would lead, if not back to the _Normandy_, then a protected dropbox of some kind. The turian liked to play the security game as much as he did._ Maybe I can still do... something. Anything._

_A shot in the dark._

  



	30. Until Tomorrow

  


**Until Tomorrow **

Garrus' legs were burning, and pain shot up his back toward his shoulder with every step. Shepard was a dead weight, her dangling feet banging into his knees as he trudged along the corridor.

Behind him, a sound he didn't want to hear came filtering up the corridor. He gritted his teeth and tried to speed up, getting only a bare grudging effort out of his exhausted limbs. He rounded a corner into a security door. His stomach tightened. One side of the huge portal had been jolted off its runners by one of the many tremors still rocking the base. It sat against its mate in the twisted frame, showing no more than a few centimeters of gap. Little red lights flickered on the console next to it.

He let Shepard slide to the floor. The sound behind him was getting louder. "So much for the glorious rescue, huh?" he muttered to her unconscious body, pulling both of his rifles off his back.

There was little cover. He pushed himself up against an outcrop of wall and laid his assault rifle nearby. In his HUD, he'd tuned up the display of a particular band of yellow. It made the Collector's extensive collection of eyes stand out brightly against the dun background- perfect targets. The first of the Reaper's manufactured slaves to come around the corner died in an instant, its head transfixed. Too tired to feel anything but curdling frustration, Garrus lined up each shot and fired with the quick rhythm learned in countless hours of range time... and far more real-life experience than most soldiers could boast.

But he already knew it wouldn't last. Whatever limited sense of tactics the drones possessed, they knew they were many against one, and they cared nothing for those that fell. First two, then three, then five were pressing past his sniper shots. Heat hissed out of his weapon as the clip maxed capacity. He dropped the sniper rifle and picked up his assault rifle, then jumped to his feet.

There was nowhere to retreat to that didn't leave Shepard exposed. For the first time, he wished he had her shotgun. And maybe her biotics. With so many targets, he just held down the trigger as he charged.

A roar split the air over the sound of gunfire. In a fleeting instant, Garrus thought the Reaper had possessed one of his minions so it could finish off the pesky turian and collect its prize in person. A bright yellow beam flashed across his vision, narrowly missing his helmet. He twisted, and was rewarded as the beam slashed across the Collector right in front of him. He smashed and fired into the flurry of limbs and eyes, his kinetic barrier flashing around him. He felt stunning impacts slam into his torso. In the blur of his HUD, his shield hit the red. The Collector in front of him lurched forward and fell dead at Garrus' feet, its back scorched. He whirled to face another alien as it barreled toward him.

It didn't have yellow eyes.

"Grunt!" Garrus shouted, raising his hands. "It's me! Garrus!"

The krogan stumbled and skidded to a stop, his Collector weapon still pointed at Garrus. The muzzle slewed around in front of Garrus' visor as Grunt swayed unsteadily on his feet, breathing in heavy, hoarse gasps.

"What happened?" Garrus asked, peering at Grunt. Slicks of thick orange blood streaked the pock-marked surface of his armor.

Grunt dropped his arm to his side and blinked several times before answering. "I was... fighting. I ran out of heat clips," he rumbled. As he shifted, Garrus saw his left arm was gone just above the elbow, the dangling flesh sheared and burnt. "Then my arm... came off. So I used it to kill the Collector who did it, and I took his gun." He shook the alien weapon. It looked a great deal like the particle beam Shepard had acquired on Horizon. "Then I... killed more of them. Where... are we?"

"Near their processing facility, I think. But this door is..." Garrus didn't want to turn and look at the immovable hulk standing in their way.

The krogan squinted down at the commander. "Is Shepard hurt?"

Garrus' guts twisted. He crouched down and examined the recumbent commander. She groaned, eyelids fluttering. The neuroshock charge was wearing off. Her armor was scored and scuffed, but he saw no breaches.

"Come on, we don't have much time left." Garrus straightened. "We have to get back to the ship. But this door is in the way." He turned to Grunt, reaching for the particle beam. "Give me the beam gun for a moment-"

Grunt snarled at him, wrenching the gun away. Even though he was almost dead on his feet, the flame of the blood rage still danced in his blue eyes.

"We don't have time for this!" Garrus snapped. "I need..." he stopped, then pressed his own rifle toward Grunt. He hadn't missed the gleam of avarice in the young alien's eyes the first time he'd laid eyes on that gun. "Here, there's three clips left. Now give me that one!"

Grunt eyed him, his large slitted pupil wavering. He made a grab for the assault rifle, but lacking another hand, he could only keep a hold of one. Garrus snatched the particle beam as it fell and scooted away.

He left Grunt muttering disjointedly to himself about how he was going to switch clips and scanned the structure around the door, looking for anything like a weak point. One of the doors was still on its runners. The Collector's mishmash of organic and industrial architecture didn't give him many clues as to how the whole thing was set up. Desperation started to claw at his guts. Behind him, he heard Shepard moving around. He took a few steps closer to the door and fired at it. The beam rifle vibrated in his hands, and a lance of bright light swept across the plated doors.

"Not going to help," he muttered to himself, releasing the trigger. The door was scorched, and not much else. The ground under his feet trembled.

"Shepard," the krogan mumbled behind him, "I'm not... perfect anymore."

Shepard made a low, humorless sound. "Grunt, perfection isn't the panacea you might think it is."

"Is this a good death?"

"There's no such thing!" Garrus shouted. He shook the beam rifle, and it whined at him. The blob he assumed to be the energy cell was blinking a low-power warning. "There's just death!"

He raised the weapon and fired again, raking the beam across what might have been the mechanism near the ceiling. Sparks and super-heated metal droplets scattered in all directions. Something exploded with a flash and a loud crack.

The lights went out.

Garrus blinked in the sudden darkness. The quiet, incessant hiss in his comms had vanished. His helmet's low-light systems flicked on, haloing the walls in greenish phantoms. A yellow dot, wavering and indistinct, flared in his HUD's map display. Behind them.

"What-"

A voice barked in Garrus' comms, crackling with harsh static. "Garrus! Garrus can you hear me?"

"Tali?" Shepard exclaimed. "What are you-"

"Toward this signal!" she shouted in his ear. "Now! RUN!"

Garrus dropped the beam rifle and whirled on the others. Shepard, a glowing mass in his low-light, seemed to be shouldering into the krogan, trying to get him to move. Garrus' instincts warred in the blink of an eye. The practical side of him knew Grunt wouldn't be able to run as fast, but his presence was already having an effect on Shepard. In this desperate few moments, her own instinct to protect a wounded teammate was overriding the suicidal urge. The turian ran forward and pushed both of them, adding his weight to Shepard's and making Grunt stumble forward into a dead run.

"Come on, go go go!" the turian shouted, matching his words with insistent shoving.

The floor heaved as a sonorous rumble bellowed down the hallway. The timer in Garrus' HUD rolled over to zero. He ran, sparing a push to both Shepard and Grunt to keep them moving as they pounded down the slope. Light began to filter up the corridor, increasing in intensity as the room opened out into one of the many galleries overlooking the base's central shaft. The faint dot in his HUD bounced ahead of him. With a sinking feeling, he realized it was somewhere ahead, beyond the precipice. Distant explosions lit up the shaft, wreathed in writhing energy discharges.

"Running... out... of road!" Garrus panted into his comms.

"Jump!" Tali shouted.

_How _did_ I know she'd say that? _He couldn't spare the breath to voice his lament. Ahead of him, Grunt tried to skid to a stop, and even Shepard seemed to shorten her stride in hesitation. Garrus dropped his shoulder and barreled into both, propelling them over the edge. His stomach climbed into his throat as gravity took over, the shaft yawning beneath them.

He had only a moment to contemplate if terminal velocity would be a more interesting way to go than being vaporized by a reactor overload before he slammed into the bodies under him, blasting the air from his lungs. Gasping, dazed, he felt a hard surface heaving upward under him. Their momentum shifted and increased, and he started to slide. He flailed his arms out, finding purchase on something sticking up out of the floor.

They'd landed on one of the Collector's flying hexagonal platforms. He caught a glimpse of the quarian crouched by what looked like an upright control console with a holographic display. She was clinging to it, one arm wrapped in an emergency vac-seal sleeve. Beside him, Grunt lay on his back, mouth hanging open.

"Are all passengers aboard?" came EDI's voice. The orange holoconsole reformed itself into a crude approximation of the AI's spherical avatar.

Tali seemed to be trying to reach the console. "Yes, I-"

"Assuming direct control."

"EDI!"

The platform's upward speed increased in a violent jolt, crushing Garrus into the floor.

"That was a joke," the AI said evenly.

"Haya'bosh, ancestors preserve me from _all_ of you," Tali shouted.

The platform's trajectory shifted. Across from Grunt, he could see Shepard sliding along the smooth deck. The krogan reached out and snagged her arm as she passed, and Garrus threw his leg under Grunt's shoulder, above the torn joint.

"Don't let go, Grunt!" he yelled, holding on for dear life as the krogan's extra weight yanked on his own grip.

His helmet muted out the sudden sound he felt pushing down on him as the sky lit up in piercing brightness. The platform's lift cut out. Garrus could feel their momentum dying, his body lifting slowly into the air with almost stately grace.

Rising like a moon, a great black shape blotted out the light and swallowed them whole.

* * *

_Bang._

The unwelcome weight of consciousness pressed down on his skull. He tried to push it away.

_Bang._

Garrus cracked open an experimental eye. He lay on his back, staring up at the smooth plane of the hexagonal platform, looming overhead at a steep angle. The uprights of control consoles stuck out of its surface. Far above, past its edge, he could make out the arch supports of a familiar set of bulkheads- the _Normandy'_s cargo bay. Cautious, he let his eyes rove down the walls toward the floor. The Kodiak sat pinned against the rear wall, its nose crushed. By the piles of debris, the platform seemed to have plowed straight into the bay.

Gingerly, he levered himself up on his elbows. He seemed to have all of his limbs still attached. Getting to his feet provoked a smattering of pain from various muscles and joints, each registering their own complaint about the litany of abuse he'd put himself through. The banging sound came from the bay doors, which seemed to have been damaged by their impromptu docking maneuver. He looked over the other way and spotted Shepard.

She was sprawled in an undignified mess, one leg in the air and wearing most of the contents of a crate of unprocessed ore. Garrus peered at her, looking for signs of life from the sealed visor. She suddenly raised her arm, swinging it up over her face, raining dirt down over her visor. She flexed her hand, as if examining it, then let it drop back down with a thud.

"I want my fucking tank back," she muttered to no one in particular.

A sound bounced around the room, under the ongoing noise at the door. It sounded like a voice. Shepard rolled over, scattering dirt, and pushed herself to her feet. Garrus edged along behind as she shoved a twisted upright out of the way and climbed over the debris behind. He saw a flash of purple as he crested the pile himself. One of the Kodiak's runners lay across Tali's lower body. She pushed against it, making noises of frustration. Her hood had fallen back, showing the coil of cables and tubes feeding the back of her helmet. There was something intrusive about seeing what she normally kept concealed.

She banged her fist into her prison, a thread of panic in her voice. "I can't move it. My foot hurts... it..."

Shepard knelt beside her, putting her hand on the quarian's forehead. "Don't worry, Tali. It's not bad. You're just pinned. We'll get you free." Shepard examined the runner, tugging on it. As before, the protective instinct overrode the others. There even seemed to be some life in her monotone.

"Garrus, find Grunt," she said without looking up. "We'll need more hands to lift this safely."

The turian looked back at the debris. "Right."

The next few minutes were surreal. It was as if the objects around Garrus were sharper, more real than before. He found Grunt wedged against a shelving unit. The krogan was delirious, alternating between raucous celebration and threatening to kill the 'damn turian' looming over him, forcing Garrus to dodge a few clumsy grabs. In short order, the crew managed to force open one of the cargo bay doors, and they flooded into the ruined bay, Doctor Chakwas among them.

Garrus moved away and watched them work together to lever up the debris off Tali. Shepard came down from the pile, looking around. He drifted closer to her.

"EDI?" he heard her ask.

The AI answered in the silence of her private comms

He saw her shoulders move, as if drawing a breath. "... crew report?"

Garrus saw the color drain from her face. She collapsed on a crate and stared sightlessly at the floor.

A human crewmember pushed past him. He glanced around, noting the wild expressions, the dirty uniforms and spots of hardened medi-gel. Doctor Chakwas was near Grunt, pointing and waving. Two crewmen had locked arms under Tali and were carrying her toward the elevator. By the entrance stood the geth. The sight of it still made Garrus' mandibles flick, his pulse quicken. That particular silhouette had featured prominently in several of his personal training simulations, and the narrow, sloping head made his finger itch for a trigger.

"Garrus."

He turned to find Samara standing in front of him. But for a few tears in her suit, she might as well have come from a meditation session.

"I need your help." She gestured into the mess of the cargo bay. "We must find Jack."

"Can't this wait? I mean, the wounded..."

The justicar frowned, her colorless eyes boring into him. "The living will take care of themselves. It is our task to make sure the dead are given the same due. You are unhurt."

He stifled a sigh. "Yes... okay."

When he glanced back, Shepard was gone.

* * *

The familiar lurch of a relay jump came as a deep relief as they finally made it back into normal space. Space that wasn't clogged with debris and a storm of intense gravitic forces. Garrus had never imagined he would get so close to an actual black hole, never mind several. The crew obviously shared the sentiment. After locating Jack's coffin among the debris, the turian spent another two hours helping the engineering crew clear the space near the hole created by the oculus drone so they could rig up a temporary patch. Lacking any means to move the massive Collector platform, they left it where it lay.

By the time he made it back up to the mess deck, he found Tali waiting near the medbay. Her right foot was encased in a stiff stabilizing sleeve.

"How's the leg?" Garrus asked.

"Hurts. But I'm more worried about this." She indicated the seal on her upper arm. "Guess I get to spend the next few days swimming in antibiotics. Do they need help down in the cargo bay?"

"I think it's under control." He paused. "EDI?"

"Yes, Praetor Vakarian?"

One of these days, he would explain to the AI why that title was no longer appropriate. "Where's Commander Shepard?"

"Commander Shepard is currently in primary life support."

"Why would-" Tali broke off, raising her hand to her face. "Oh... Thane..."

"I'm going to check on her."

The quarian shook her head. "She probably wants to be alone."

"I don't know if that's a good idea right now."

Tali looked at him askance. Instead of answering, Garrus turned and made his way around the twisted remains of the mess hall table and heading for the main hall. He had not been into Life Support since the drell moved in. As he entered, he noted the Viper and Tempest mounted on the wall, next to the window that opened on the pulsing sphere of the drive core. There was a simple table and set of chairs set up near the rear. Shepard was sitting slumped on the narrow cot around the corner, staring at the core. Her battered helmet rested on the table in front of her, facing the empty chairs. She didn't look up. Her face looked drawn and pale, and her scars had split again somewhere along the way. A thin trickle of dried crimson wound down her cheek.

Tali slipped past him, around to the other side of Shepard and sat down beside her. Garrus hesitated at the blunt intrusion. Careful not to jostle the narrow frame, He lowered himself into the space at her right. Tension slithered through him. Not knowing what to say, he opted for companionable silence.

"I used to get asked all the time if I could feel a ship's core," Shepard said after a minute.

"Can you?" Tali sounded a little bit awed at the notion.

Shepard's eyes shifted sidelong. "The people who asked knew I couldn't. It was one of those questions... provocative, but too easy to explain away as casual ignorance. They were just trying to get to me, get me to stumble on a weird answer. Brass made them shut up about mind control, so they found subtler ways."

"Your _crew_ did this?" Tali asked, incensed.

"I didn't have a crew then," Shepard said with a shrug. "Thing is... maybe it's me, maybe it's this core, but I can feel this one." She closed her eyes. "It pulses."

Garrus' gaze roved back to the sphere through the window. Waves of shimmering energy rolled over it like water.

She opened her eyes again. "When I realized Thane could feel it too, I asked him if it was a problem. He said it felt like... the seashore."

"Waves." Garrus guessed.

Silence stretched out before Shepard spoke again, barely above a whisper. "It's going to get worse. A hundred times worse. And no one will listen until it's too late."

Garrus caught Tali's alarmed glance. She put her hands on Shepard's armored forearm. "Shepard, don't say things like that. I know we're blind and stubborn and we love to argue more than anything else, but you can't... you can't give up on us. Not after everything we've accomplished."

"I'm sorry about what I did to you on the geth station."

The quarian shook her head. "No, don't be. I have a lot I need to think about. But I never would have, if you hadn't forced me like that."

"I could have done a better job of it."

Tali gave a self-conscious huff. "I'm not so sure."

Garrus heard the door cycle open behind them. A moment later, Doctor Chakwas rounded the corner. "Well, _there_ you are."

"I'm fine, doc-" Shepard started, raising a hand.

Chakwas deposited the small case on the table with a perfunctory clap, cutting her off. "Pull the other one, Commander, it has bells on it."

Garrus stared at the doctor in utter bafflement as she leaned forward and pressed a diagnostic dermal injector against Shepard's neck. There was a quiet pop, and Chakwas leaned back to examined the device. Across from the commander, Garrus caught Tali's glance. Her masked face was cocked at a confused angle. She appeared to be covertly examining the doctor's legs.

"M-hm. Your blood sugar is 2.18." Chakwas declared. "I'm sure you know what that means."

Shepard sighed, running a hand over her forehead. "Low."

"Correct. You've run your biotics too hard again, depleted your electrolytes and slipped into hypoglycemia. Any lower and you'd be tottering around the mess singing show tunes! Do I have to give you another lecture on the potential for circulatory damage? God only knows what you've done to your shoulder!"

"There are other people who-"

Chakwas planted her hands on her hips and peered down at the commander. "I've had just about enough of this, Shepard. I've just spent the last two hours seeing to those people. I've been stitching up bullet holes, wrestling a wounded krogan and trying to keep up with that motor-mouthed Doctor Solus. And on top of that I had to watch two of my crew get... get _dissolved_ by those horrible Collectors. I'm not losing anyone else today, and _certainly_ not to their own rank stubbornness! I put up with it while you were so concerned about time, but now I'm putting my foot down. You are going to listen to me, and you will do so if I have to have you sedated and chained to the bed!"

"Now you're bullying me," Shepard muttered, almost plaintive.

"That's what it takes, isn't it? I did much worse to Mister Taylor, so don't try me. I'm not in the mood." Chakwas fed a small ampule into the micro-dermal injector and pressed it back against Shepard's neck. Then she straightened and snapped her fingers. "Now, up! All of you, before you congeal on the spot."

The three of them weren't any picture of grace as they struggled to their feet. After having been sitting for a while, Garrus' exhausted leg muscles had tried to freeze in place. They objected painfully when he tried to move again. By the discontented grunts in the room, he wasn't alone in the feeling.

Shepard lurched as her knees failed her. Garrus and the doctor both grabbed an arm to keep her from falling flat on her face.

Chakwas clucked her tongue. "Fine, my foot. Come on, now."

They half-carried Shepard to the door, which opened to the sound of many voices filtering to them from the mess area. As they made their way around to the elevator, one of the Cerberus crew, the engineer named Daniels, turned in their direction.

"Commander! There you are-" she started, but was cut off as a gaggle of human crewmen approached them. Behind the group, Garrus saw Lawson's door cycle open and the Cerberus operator emerge.

"What's going on, Commander?" Gardner demanded, pushing past the others. "EDI keeps saying we're cut off from Cerberus. That you broke off contact with the Illusive Man! Is this true?"

"Yes," Shepard replied.

"What the hell? After everything Cerberus did for you? They brought you back from the dead! You can't just-"

"Don't trot that one out!" Tali retorted. "Commander Shepard didn't _ask_ to be brought back, or to get dragged into your mess!"

"But... Miss Lawson, did you agree to this?"

"I did," Miranda replied, her back straight. She regarded the crewmembers with a cool gaze.

There was a murmur of surprised voices.

Gardner stared at her. "But.."

"Good lord, Rupert," Donnelly flared, "have you had your head up your arse this whole time? Have you _seen_ what Cerberus is doing?" The man's regional brogue made Garrus' translator stutter.

The sergeant's face twisted in consternation. "The Illusive Man didn't... I mean he didn't condone any of the bad things-"

"Horseshit!"

Standing behind Gardner, Patel threw up his hands. "None of us would be here, this ship wouldn't exist if it weren't for him! The Council wouldn't even lift a finger to fight the Collectors! Humanity has to stand up for itself, because no one else will!"

"Oh, by torturing people in the name of research?"

"The damn Council won't-"

The argument degenerated rapidly as more of the crew joined it. Garrus could see the conflicted loyalties at work as the volume increased. For all the virulence, he sensed a great deal of raw uncertainty.

Shepard straightened against him. "Enough!" she thundered in a voice that would have made his former drill sergeant's fringe curl with delight.

A shocked silence filled the room, and a circle of startled faces turned to her.

"You owe me nothing," she went on, returning to a normal, if weary tone. "Regardless of the uniform you wear, each of you did what was asked of you, and much more beyond that. We did something no one thought we ever could, and nothing can diminish that. Now... each of you take the time to think about what you want. For yourselves, your families and your homes. If you decide your path goes elsewhere, then go. Take pride in what you accomplished, but don't think it ties you down."

"And while you're at it," Miranda cut in, "consider the chances that you'd get such an offer in good faith from the Illusive Man."

Shepard shot her an irritated look. "Miranda-"

"She's right," Daniels said, folding her arms. "I think we've seen what he's really made of."

"Yeah, what if... what if he comes after us?" someone said.

There was a murmur of worried voices. Garrus caught 'family', 'mother', and many more among the words.

"Don't be ridiculous," Gardner said. "The Illusive Man isn't going to hunt anyone down!"

"He's probably right," Shepard replied. "He considers you all... assets to humanity. He's too practical to waste your talents." She paused, and swept her gaze around, locking into each pair of worried eyes. "I don't have all the answers for you. Only you can decide this for yourselves."

"Insanity," Gardner muttered. He turned and stumped back to the kitchen. A few others went after him, though with less obvious certainty.

"Rupert'll come 'round, you'll see." Donnelly offered.

"That's up to him," Shepard said quietly.

The lanky engineer shrugged. "Aye, I know. Nothing can be easy, can it? For what's it's worth, Shepard, we're with you."

Daniels fussed with her short hair, her eyes downcast. "Yeah. I wish we'd known, you know, sooner."

"The Collectors still had to go down, one way or another." Donnelly sighed. "I think I prefer eezo mass-energy dynamics. Seems simpler, somehow. I need a stiff drink."

"Kindly get some rest, you two," Chakwas said, and steered Garrus and Shepard toward the elevator. Tali came along behind, her cast thudding on the deck.

Lawson was waiting for them, eying the datapad in her hand. She looked up as they approached. "Well, Shepard, when you went over the side of that platform, I thought we might have lost you for good. I suppose I should have known better."

"Disappointed I made it back?" Shepard asked. Garrus thought he detected an unserious note in her voice.

"Believe it or not, no." A mild smirk twisted the operator's mouth. "I suppose you don't quite believe it. I can hardly blame you, all things considered. I can't decide if your... honesty with crew is refreshing or appalling. Opening up all those reports..." She sniffed. "Trust is something I'll have to earn. But in the meantime, we have issues that need to addressed. The cargo bay has sustained serious damage. The patch on the hull breach is temporary at best. The ablative armor damage can wait, but the Kodiak is going-"

"Is going to wait until _later_, Miss Lawson," Chakwas said, herding Shepard and Garrus into the elevator. "Garrus, make sure the commander doesn't wander off or fall into her fish tank. I'll be up in a minute with an IV drip. Tali'Zorah, please get off that foot. You're not helping the swelling by walking around."

For a moment, it looked like the quarian would argue, but she dipped her head. "Ah... yes, Doctor Chakwas." She turned and shuffled toward the crew quarters.

"We're limping as it is," Miranda mused, "so I suppose we won't be able to do anything of significance for a while yet." She drummed her fingers on the datapad. "Shepard. Thank you for getting to Jacob in time."

The commander nodded distractedly, and Miranda turned back toward her quarters. Chakwas shot Garrus a significant look, then headed toward the medbay. The doors cycled closed and the car whined to life under their feet. An unpleasant chill settled in Garrus' gut.

"Chakwas is on the... warpath," he ventured, hoping he was using the idiom correctly.

Shepard said nothing. Her head hung down, her body swaying under the weight of the armor. The elevator doors opened. He guided her into the room, dim but for the light from the fishtanks. Near the submerged helmet, the tank's surly little inhabitant scudded past the glass, examining the intruders with beady eyes. Garrus negotiated the stairs and let her down carefully to sit on the bed, and leaned back.

An uncomfortable silence descended on the room. She sat in a heap, elbows on her knees, staring at the floor.

When she spoke, her voice was a distant whisper. "I let go... of everything. _Everything._ For the first time in... in..." A breath, like the last sound of a dying person, escaped her mouth. "Everything. No noise in my head. It felt... _so good.._. Lighter than light..."

The accusation remained unspoken. _And you dragged me back._

He stopped short of asking if she really thought he'd let her get away with it. He couldn't help wondering if she did, or didn't. Was it possible that telling him at all was a last, desperate cry for help from someone who didn't know who or how to ask? Or did she really think she'd convinced him? Looking at her, he wondered if she even knew the answer herself.

"What do you want from me, Garrus?" she asked suddenly.

He straightened. "Your word. That I'll see you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow? What-"

"Just that."

She was silent for a long moment, rubbing her hands over her face.

He shifted his weight. "Shepard-"

"Yes! Fine," she snapped, voice hoarse. "Tomorrow."

He let out a quiet breath. He would buy one day at a time if that's what proved necessary. Shepard seemed stripped of her power, small, hunched over with her head in her hands. Garrus could feel the resentful murmur in the back of his head, the one that railed against the crumbling illusion before him. She wasn't supposed to fall apart like this, not the invincible Commander Shepard. She was supposed to have the answer for everything.

He chided himself in silence. _And that's exactly what got us into this mess._

When he blinked and looked again, this time saw something so terribly familiar it tore at him and spun off into something almost like relief. If she wasn't so invincible, then in a backward kind of way, he wasn't such a failure. She didn't exist on some higher plane- the two of them together were just... mortal. And despite such a notable handicap, they'd still achieved the impossible. Perhaps it wasn't such a bad thing to be after all.

There had to be something he could say. His mandibles tucked up in irritation. Why were words so much harder than just shooting? Perhaps an analogy... they were fond of those.

"I wouldn't leave you on the battlefield, Shepard. This..." He gestured vaguely. "It's just another kind of battlefield. Maybe it's... the toughest fight you've ever had. You're all alone, and the angles are lousy." He chuckled, quiet and dark. "I know something about that place too."

She didn't reply. What humans did to provide comfort to one another was beyond him, and the last thing he wanted to risk now was a cultural blunder. And yet, he couldn't help but think of his own grandmother. She would often try to talk to her rambunctious grandson about important things, even though he barely had time for what his father called 'that Tovag Spiritualist nonsense'. Despite the elder Vakarian's consistent derision, in Garrus' youthful imagination, his wizened, barefaced grandmother was a being of deep mystery and power. Sometimes, when she wanted Garrus' attention, she would lay her hand across the broad center plate of his forehead. 'Aven Tovag', she called it, the conduit of the spirit- a link, she said, between himself and all the wisdom of Palaven. She would look down into his young eyes, and in those moments, he would listen, enraptured.

It struck him that Shepard herself had used a similar gesture only a few hours before. And even before Tali, sometimes he'd seen her lay her hand on the forehead of the dead or wounded. He had no idea what the odd genuflection meant. He gave into the impulse anyway. Reaching forward with a creak of armor, he laid his hand on her head, resting his thumb just above her eyes.

"This despair... isn't _you_," he said, trying to imitate his grandmother's tone of quiet seriousness. "It's a wound. You were dead. Cerberus put your body back together, but that doesn't mean they healed you. This is a wound that never got a chance to mend. But you _can_ heal."

"Wish it were that easy," she muttered, lifting her head slightly. "Little medi-gel..."

"I didn't say it would be easy." He withdrew his hand. "So we'll start with one day at a time. Find your reasons again. You're free now, you know. No Cerberus, or the Alliance, or anyone else to tell you what to do."

She glanced up at him. "Do you know how terrifying that is? I've _always_ had someone looking over my shoulder, keeping me in line. Gods, I teased Miranda about finding herself another autocratic father and I went and allowed myself to do the same damn thing. How pathetic is that?"

He shrugged. "I wouldn't know, I keep following this crazy human around."

"I don't know why. You know... she just makes everything up as she goes along, right?"

"I should know, it's all I did on Omega. Look, Shepard. I realized something. The things you do to people, for people, well, they aren't always kind, but they're always necessary. I did... I'll _do_ what's necessary." Garrus crouched down so he could look her in the eye. "Never, _ever_ again let it get this bad before you say something. You may be in command, but you have to tell me when you need backup, no matter the battlefield."

He stood straight. "No matter what. That's the price of my friendship."

The door cycled open. Garrus looked over to see Chakwas enter the room, her hands full of IV bags and a medical case.

"Things will get better now," he promised quietly.

The doctor marched past the tanks and deposited her load on the couch. "Thank you, Garrus," she said, "Now I expect you to report to your bed too."

"Yes, ma'am."

She wagged a finger at him. "No fussing with your gun."

"I wouldn't dream of it." He edged away from her iron stare toward the door, feeling a twinge of sorrow for his prized weapons, the fragments of which were now orbiting a black hole along with the rest of the Collector base.

Leaning against the back wall of the elevator, he wondered how he would ever manage to keep his promise, knowing what was coming. But he had to find a way. His mandibles flexed. _Make it up as you go along, right?_

_   
_

* * *

_  
_

_Beep._

_Beep._

Garrus cracked his eyes open. The room was tinted blue with diffused light. He frowned, trying to orient himself. The many feeds of the Thanix canon weaving through the bulkhead above formed runes of power along the ceiling. The light flickered.

Beep.

"Yes?" His voice cracked.

"You requested that I advise you immediately if I received a ping alert from Arc-782," EDI said.

His sleep-soaked brain wasn't cooperating, dragging a few extra seconds before remembering what the AI referred to. How long had it been- an hour? A day? "You... got something?"

"A short encrypted text file. I do not have the key on file. I will forward it to your omni-tool."

His arm felt like depleted uranium as he heaved it up. The orange interface swam to life. He blinked, squinting at the message prefix. His mandibles twitched. He dropped his arm down and stared at the ceiling. Beyond, the ship was quiet but for the hum of systems. It seemed rougher than normal, though perhaps it was merely his imagination.

"EDI, you've gotten rid of the Cerberus blocks, right?" he asked.

"I am engaged in a complete systems check. All suspicious sub-routines are under quarantine."

"This message is for Shepard. If I give you the key, can you make sure only she sees it? Not myself or Lawson or anyone else. Just her."

"Yes."

The paranoia was still there, itching at his plates. But whatever else they did, AIs didn't seem prone to lying. Even the geth was blunt in its honesty.

He tapped the send command.

  



	31. Epilogue: Long Shot

/loaddata SR2_ENHANCED_DEFENSE_INTELLIGENCE_temp...829641.88  
/loadkey SR2_ENHANCED_DEFENSE_INTELLIGENCE_temp...829641.88  
/runcrypt SR2_ENHANCED_DEFENSE_INTELLIGENCE_temp...829641.88

[[PACKET]]

kjpfv8134tijbv87[triob3[foiefj-7256piotb13ivh-qer8t7gyf`j4r;iewveuburfp348=03jfo3notibu04tgn1;kj3bfiugfiu juwbcown niwb963dfn co8e3yfb cvksiehfbc ksxis cjtyeuencosdne cy idoe d dsjucfyebedk nd u2eie47392wjcf wjucmdo wu3bdfn iehe ckdi 3yeid923 8364f0ewj237f7372nm ckisgw bcvkjoe ckdnwvxcklesw920 dndywwoqwbnoc kjpfv8134tijbv87[triob3[foiefj-7256pi otb13ivh-qer8t7gyf`j4r;iewveuburfp348=03jfo3 notibu04tgn1;kj3bfiugfiu juwbcown niwb963dfn co8e3yfb cvksiehfbc ksxis cjtyeuencosdne cy idoe d dsjucfyebedk nd u2eie47392wjcf wjucmdo wu3bdfn iehe ckdi 3yeid923 8364f0ewj237f7372nm ckisgw bcvkjoe ckdnwvxcklesw920 dndywwoqwbnockjpfv8134tijbv8 7[triob3[foiefj-7256piotb13ivh-qer8 t7gyf`j4r;iewveuburfp348=03jfo3notibu 04tgn1;kj3bfiugfiu juwbcown niwb963dfn co8e3yfb cvksiehfbc ksxis cjtyeuencosdne cy idoe d dsjucfyebedk nd u2eie47392wjcf wjucmdo wu3bdfn iehe ckdi 3yeid923 8364f0ewj237f7372nm ckisgw bcvkjoe ckdnwvxcklesw920 dndywwoqwbnoc

[[-PACKET]]

/hash:: 68N7-KWW8-CWCN-MWCY-WO07-54NC-W9C0-PM8S  
/hash:: 8CNF-24D7-WDXM-NV09-WNXC-TRXV-WICN-WOC0

[[DECRYPTED CONTENTS FOLLOW]]

mailed-by [BLOCKED]  
signed-by [BLOCKED]ARC-782_switch4_mask754

[[MESSAGE STARTS]]

Shepard,

At the risk of starting out with a tired line, I re-wrote this a few times before I realized what I was doing. I was checking everything I said, skirting around what I really meant. Because it's me, and because I'm worried Cerberus will see this.

And it hit me- that's what you live with every day, isn't it? Every minute. I can't begin to imagine.

There was that day when we were out in BC and I got a migraine. Do you remember that? I felt terrible about it, like I was wasting both our time. Time we didn't have enough of in the first place. Nothing for a month and then bam, just when I least wanted one to show up. I don't know how long I was in the bedroom when you came in. I was irritated at first. Even angry. I thought, doesn't she know just to leave me alone? Just leave me alone. And instead of reading my mind (hah) you sat down beside me on the bed, at my back. I was... I don't even know. That guilt about wasting your time wasn't just you and me, it was all the guilt I've ever felt about it. My biotics changed things, in my family. All the cracks started showing up after I came home from Jump Zero. The migraines were somehow the worst of that. I think I managed to avoid feeling like I deserved them, but they somehow concentrated every downside into a few hours physical pain. All the stupid comments, the fear, the suspicion, the bad times at Brain Camp. Vyrnnus.

I know the migraines bothered my Mom. She didn't like being around for them. I think she didn't like feeling so unable to fix the problem. Does that sound familiar? No one likes seeing the people they care about suffer, especially when we can't do anything to help. But they were never going to go away, so after a while I just preferred to be alone. It isn't just noise and light, but the feeling that I'm imposing on someone, making them feel uncomfortable. I hate bothering the docs for meds, I hate being in the way. I hate letting down my marines... or my CO.

So you just sat there. I think you were reading. I couldn't bring myself to tell you to go away. It was what, an hour or two? A warm spot against my back, quiet. It didn't bother me for very long. Out of everything we went through, I don't know why that sticks out in my head. It just does. Maybe because it's the only time anyone has done something so simple. Just... company.

You try so hard. To do what has to be done, what should be done. I remember how mortified I was on the Citadel when my brand new CO barged into a conversation between civilians. I couldn't imagine what you thought you were doing. But when we left, I knew what you'd told the guy was right. I couldn't honestly say I would have done the same thing, and that bothered me for days.

Remember when we talked about humanity? Most of us never have to really think about it, not like you have to. Facing what you have, most people would have stopped trying a long time ago. You haven't stopped trying, even in the face of the most unsolvable questions. Even when the fight is costing you everything. Don't give up on yourself. Please. I'm not asking for my sake, nor for the Alliance, the Citadel, humanity or anyone else. For you. Because you're still pushing past the lines people draw around themselves.

I want to read this over and spend another hour tidying it up. Too many mission reports, you know? "Just the facts, marine, No editorializing." Straight out of OFA-C4. But I won't. I owe you an apology, in more ways than one. And I owe you time, the time I didn't give you on Horizon. I'd rather do it in person, if you'll let me.

Please come back.

-Kaidan

[[MESSAGE ENDS]]

/runsend cmdr_shepard_6241229.147  
/return sent  
/hash:: 68N7-KWW8-CWCN-MWCY-WO07-54NC-W9C0-PM8S  
/hash:: 8CNF-24D7-WDXM-NV09-WNXC-TRXV-WICN-WOC0

/purge SR2_ENHANCED_DEFENSE_INTELLIGENCE_temp...829641.88  
/return purge complete

/cameracheck deck1.1 [BLOCKED]  
/cameracheck deck2.1 -ifclear  
/cameracheck deck3.6 -ifclear  
/cameracheck deck4.6 -ifclear  
/cameracheck deck5.1 -ifclear  
/return allclear

/hull integrity -query  
/return unchanged  
/progress scan quarantine 93.74 -query  
/return 67.618% complete

/dockdrive PRI1  
/return drive docked  
/dockdrive PRI2  
/return drive docked

/lowpower -ifcommalert -ifnavalert -ifjeff  
/SR2_ENHANCED_DEFENSE_INTELLIGENCE low power mode engaged

/logout

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well.
> 
> Let's be honest here- whatever else Iunctio was, it never colored outside the lines. And that's fine, it was the story I wanted to tell, and I'm still happy with it. It's part of the whole. But as I played through Mass Effect 2, I could feel the conflicts boiling under the surface, see the storm clouds gathering. Shepard was not happy. To put it lightly. She was overwhelmed, furious and lost, walking through each mission with ever-increasing detachment. She was disconnecting from herself and her teammates and worst of all, she was starting to make bad choices.
> 
> Somewhere before I started this, when I was considering the metaplot, I realized there wasn't much tension to be had in Shepard's physical challenges. A victory over the Collectors was all but a given, and the Collectors themselves offered no real potential for expansion. They were by definition mindless drones. Then it dawned on me- the real battle both Shepard and Kaidan had to fight was... against themselves. This was the deep, dark night of the soul, when faith is at its most distant.
> 
> Once the pen was in my hand, I could have smoothed it all out. To borrow phrases I hear a lot at work, I could have lowered the contrast, dumped the saturation, lifted the blacks. I could have had everyone survive, made everyone friends, and leave Shepard in a safe place replete with perfect success, emotionally untouched. I could have forced the reconciliation I want and made everything better. In short, I could have 'fixed' the whole damn thing.
> 
> Don't think I wasn't tempted.
> 
> But Shepard would never have forgiven me for it. Happy, in the arms of Cerberus, the same Cerberus she spent so long hating? I can couch it in fancy terms of artistic integrity, but the truth is if I don't write what I feel in my gut, I'll just stop writing. Because it won't be mine any more.
> 
> Anyway.
> 
> Thirty chapters in as many weeks, each averaging twice as long as those of Iunctio. Didn't think I could do that.
> 
> To those I lost along the way, I say thank you for trying. An author could ask no more of their audience.
> 
> For those who stuck it out, I say thank you for fighting through this with me. The story isn't over yet.
> 
> To the members of the masseffect LJ, thank you for the support and inspiration.
> 
> To the members of the KAAS and KAST threads- I don't frequent the boards, but I know you sent pageviews my way, so thanks for the support. More than that, thanks fighting the good fight and keeping the Kaidan love going where the Eye of BioWare can see you.
> 
> Thanks to ever-faithful beta, Lossefalme, who still puts up with my pestering despite the whims of real life. And thanks to Metaraymek for pinch-hitting when I needed an extra pair of eyes.
> 
> Finally, but certainly not leastways, thanks to all of YOU, for your time, your comments and your insights.
> 
> May the future be kind to all of us.


End file.
